Black Silk Ladies
by MaverickLover2
Summary: Bart and Bret Maverick travel to Natchez to collect money owed to them, and Bart ends up winning a new business in a poker game – a parlor house.
1. Prologue

Prologue

"We? How did you drag me into this?"

"Well, I kinda used our money in the poker game."

"And you won?"

"Yep. Looks like we own . . . . . . . "

And that was as far as I got before Bret hauled off and hit me. Just out and out hit me, with a left hook I didn't know he had. To say he was a bit upset was putting it mildly.

What had I won on our first night in Natchez that had him so disturbed? Mad enough that he'd haul off and knock me down and leave me sitting on the floor and rubbing the newly created sore spot on my jaw? Glaring at me like I'd just betrayed him?

"Are you gonna just leave me here?" I asked him.

The only answer I got back from him was a "Hmmmmpf!" Finally he reached out a hand and helped pull me back up to my feet. Then he started laughing, like he'd just heard the funniest joke I'd ever told. "You did not win that!"

"Oh, yes I did," I answered, and made sure I was out of his reach just in case he decided to do it again. What was it that caused the unexpected reaction? Only the finest whorehouse in Natchez!


	2. South

Chapter 1 – South

Both of us were happier when we'd gotten through the mountain pass that led to Sioux Falls, South Dakota and back out into the world. The only way in or out of the town had been closed due to excessive and unexpected snowfall, and my brother Bret and I had spent almost five months hiding out in a land fit for neither man nor beast. That situation finally resolved, we were on our way south to Natchez, Mississippi to collect the almost ten-thousand dollar reward due to us. That's where it was waiting, and neither of us was about to pass up that kind of money.

Even under the best of circumstances it was going to take several days or more to make the trip, and God only knew what kind of weather we'd find along the way. It was almost the beginning of April, but Mother Nature can be as fickle as Lady Luck, and we were well-acquainted with both of them. Bret and I are professional poker players. Course the general public calls us gamblers, but that's not quite accurate. Poker is a science; a sweet science, but not a gamble when played correctly. And we'd learned from the best, our father. Beauregard Jefferson Maverick, of the South Carolina and later Texas Mavericks, the finest poker player, con man and overall card cheat in the South.

Let me clarify that for a minute. Pappy could cheat with the best of them, but he didn't unless he was cheated. He played an honest game of poker and taught us the same way. We might be 'shiftless', according to some people, but we were honest shiftless. Knowing how to cheat came in real handy when playing a lot of the gamblers out there in the world. It made it a lot easier to spot somebody deceitful and take appropriate measures.

Back to Bret. My older brother, by a whole year and five months. Still, even with that short a time span between us, I very often refer to him as 'Pappy'. Sometimes it's to irritate him and sometimes it's said with great affection. Bret had a good hand in raising me before our momma died, and almost total control of my life after we lost her. That happened when I was five years old. Oh, yeah, we had our real Pappy, Beauregard, but he played poker most nights and slept most days. If we really needed an adult, we went to Uncle Ben, Pappy's younger brother, or his housekeeper, Lily Mae Conners. Then there was Uncle Ben's son Beau, almost exactly Bret's age and more of a third brother than a cousin.

There're other relatives out there, but they weren't in our lives for one reason or another when we were growing up. And once we were out of the house in Texas – they were another matter entirely. Bret and I live wherever we happen to wander into for a few days, weeks, or even, like Sioux Falls, months. So after a winter spent freezing our butts off we were headed south, and feeling more comfortable with every mile we traveled.

Now don't get to thinking that we were big, heroic fellas just because I told you about the reward. The first fifty-six hundred dollars was due to us simply because I'd found money stolen from a bank and turned it into the marshal in Shreveport, Louisiana, and I'd had to give Bret half of it to obtain his help in staying alive. The rest of the money was promised to us after we'd captured or killed the other two members of the gang that stole the money. Well, technically Bret was responsible for the capture and the kill, but if they hadn't tried to brand me he wouldn't have found them. Literally brand me. I admit being incredibly lucky that I don't have their mark permanently seared into my chest.

Regardless, we were splitting the reward but had to travel to Natchez to collect it. And the further south we went the warmer it got. And the more we both smiled. Once we got into southern Missouri, we got rid of the thick coats we'd practically lived in all winter. I believe we had a 'burn me' party one night when we camped and the coats went to meet their maker.

"Next time I want to go north, Brother Bret – "

"Yes?"

"Remind me what the term 'bone-chilling cold' really means, would you?"

"That I shall, Brother Bart."

It was still a little chilly in Arkansas, but nothing we couldn't handle. And it had turned into a typical, warm spring by the time we got to Mississippi. One night out of Natchez it was almost balmy, and we were sitting around the fire talking about what we wanted to do when we got to the city.

"I want a real, honest-to-God soak-me-until-I-turn-into-a-prune bath," Bret offered.

"And then?"

"The fattest steak we can find. And a great big bed, all to myself."

"No poker? No lady of the evening murmuring sweet nothings in your ear?"

"Nope. All I want is a bed and clean sheets."

Ah, see, that's where Bret made his mistake. He'd have been much better off, and our lives would have been a lot less complicated, if he'd gone with me to play poker that night. But that's usually what happens; one of us wants one thing and the other something else and we end up with something that's not what either of us intended. Our time in Natchez was going to be no different.

XXXXXXXX

We went to the marshal's office when we got into the city, not wanting to take a chance on any kind of waiting period before we could collect our funds. Marshal Todd Dunbar verified that I was, indeed, Bart Maverick and due the reward, and went to the Mississippi state offices with me to authorize the funds, and the Maverick brothers walked out of there with almost ten-thousand dollars. "Let's go find the best hotel in town and we'll split this," I told him, and that's how we ended up at Chez Natchez, in a suite with two bedrooms. When we live high-on-the-hog, we live high.

After the funds had been divvied up, there was still plenty of money in my wallet. "There has to be a tailor here somewhere," Bret remarked, and I had to agree with him.

"Let's go looking. I want that black silk waistcoat," I suggested. I'd lost two good frock coats and three shirts in Sioux Falls, and I was ready for something new. Something . . . . . . . black. And elegant. Maybe some of it would rub off on me.

There was a tailor of some local repute, Louis Jordan, and he was more than happy to take care of our needs when he discovered we weren't the average, run-of-the-mill 'give me any coat off the rack' gentlemen. And they were indeed able to accommodate my desire for that black silk. As a matter of fact, I ordered two black silk waistcoats. We were both quite happy with the choices we'd made, and were instructed to return in exactly one week for fittings.

"Now, the steak," Bret reminded me as we left the tailor. We'd already checked with the clerk at Chez Natchez, and were directed to the Carriage House on Caruthers Street. The place certainly lived up to its reputation, and when Bret finished supper he was a happy man. My meal was excellent, but nobody loves food like my brother. We walked back to Chez Natchez, reveling in the beautiful, warm evening.

I'd had a glass of wine with dinner and was in no mood to end the night, early as it still was. Bret, however, reminded me of his desire only for a bed and nothing more exotic on his first night in the city, and we parted company. There was a gaming room in the hotel and I wandered in there to see what trouble I could get into. As it turns out, I could get into a lot.


	3. Belle Amour

Chapter 2 – Belle Amour

We'd been playing five or six hours when I hit one of those streaks that you'd give your right arm to duplicate. By five in the morning I'd won everything that had been sitting on the table, and I was headed the same way with this hand. I'd been dealt three queens, and on my discard I'd picked up the fourth. The only other man left in the game was Oscar Wharton, and he appeared to be a gentleman of considerable wealth from his manner of dress and speech. He'd also drawn two cards, but his draw didn't appear to be as profitable as mine was going to be from the slight turn of the mouth when he saw what he'd drawn.

Everyone has a tell; some are just more visible than others. Bret and I had both found ours years ago and learned to prevent them, so no matter what was going on in the game nobody could read us. I'd picked up on Oscar's before the end of the second hand we played, and he'd been pretty true-to-form all night. So I knew I had him beat.

We'd been raising rather steadily the whole hand, but after my draw I backed off a little, deliberately. I wanted to see what he'd do, and he just kept going. It was obvious he thought I hadn't drawn well, either. After I had him convinced of that I reached inside my coat for my wallet and pulled out the reward money. Bret had handed me his wallet to hold when we were being fitted for our clothes and I still had it. So I was playing with all of our funds. Wharton's last bet had been four thousand dollars, and I called him and raised another five thousand.

Oscar hesitated and I held my breath for a moment, wondering if I'd pushed it too far. Then I saw the glimmer in his eyes, and I knew he was hooked. He didn't have enough on the table to call me, and he'd already gone to his wallet and left it practically empty. So from his inside coat pocket he pulled a folded paper that turned out to be a deed. "Mr. Maverick, if you'll allow it, I have here the deed to the building located at the corner of Washington and State Street. As you can see, this is for both the building and total ownership of the business that resides therein. The name of the business is 'Belle Amour' and is quite lucrative. Any one of the gentlemen at this table can attest to its profitability. As a matter of fact, most of the gentlemen at this table are patrons of Belle Amour. You may ask any of them, they will corroborate its veracity."

All of the other poker players at the table were definitely cut from the same cloth as Oscar Wharton, and, as a gentleman myself, on my better days, I believed the heads that I saw nodding around me. "And the business is wholly owned by you, as well as the building? Surely this much be worth a considerable amount of money, Mr. Wharton. Why would you want to run the risk of losing the enterprise, sir?"

Wharton let slip that little smile of his. "Because, Mr. Maverick, I believe I have you beaten."

"I shall accept your property sir. What value do you wish to put on it?"

"I should imagine the property and business are equal to the value of funds I need to call your bet, Mr. Maverick."

"Are you then calling me, Mr. Wharton?"

"I am, Mr. Maverick." Oscar Wharton's eyes were bright with anticipation of his success.

"Since 'Belle Amour' translates loosely as 'Beautiful Love', I think it quite appropriate that I have four beautiful ladies to show you, Mr. Wharton."

His expression changed to one of defeat as he realized I'd beaten him, and he laid his cards, face down, on the table. "You have me at a disadvantage, Mr. Maverick. I believe the Belle Amour is yours."

"And just exactly what kind of an enterprise is the Bell Amour, Mr. Wharton?"

He looked at me, startled. "Why son, I thought you knew. The Belle Amour is the finest Parlor House in the city of Natchez."

And that is how the Maverick brothers came to own a whorehouse.

XXXXXXXX

It was closer to eight o'clock before I had a chance to tell Bret just what I'd won. I, of course, felt obligated to give him half ownership in the property, considering that I'd risked his part of the reward money to seal the bet. I'd gotten back to the suite and found my brother padding around in bare feet and no coat, smoking a cigar and reading the latest paper. "What in God's name are you doin' up this early?" I asked. I'd been hoping to get in a few hours' sleep before I had to explain what we were now the proprietors of.

"I came back to the room at eight o'clock last night, remember?" he reminded me.

"Oh, yeah. Had breakfast yet?"

"No, of course not. What are you not tellin' me, Brother Bart? Did you lose all your money last night? Oh my God, you have my wallet. Did you lose my money, too?"

"Uh, no. I didn't lose."

"Then why am I lookin' at that 'oh-no-I'm-in-trouble' face?"

"Because of what we won."

"We? How did you drag me into this?"

"Well, I kinda used your money in the poker game."

"And you won?"

"Yep."

"WHAT did WE win?"

"Here, let me give your wallet back." I walked over to where Bret was sitting on a settee in the common area of the suite and for some reason Bret stood up to take his wallet back.

I waited a minute for him to sit back down, but he remained standing and repeated himself. "WHAT did WE win?"

"You've been in Natchez before, haven't you?" I asked innocently.

"You know I have."

"Have you ever heard of the Belle Amour?"

"Sure. Most elegant parlor house in the whole state. What has that got to do with . . . . . . "

I laughed nervously. I'd have backed away from him if I'd known what was coming. "Yep. Looks like we own . . . . . . . "

And that was as far as I got before Bret hauled off and hit me. Just out and out hit me, with a left hook I didn't know he had. To say he was a bit upset was putting it mildly.

What had him so disturbed? Mad enough that he'd haul off and knock me down and leave me sitting on the floor and rubbing the newly created sore spot on my jaw? Glaring at me like I'd just betrayed him?

"Are you gonna just leave me here?" I asked him.

The only answer I got back from him was a "Hmmmmpf!" Finally he reached out a hand and helped pull me back up to my feet. Then he started laughing, like he'd just heard the funniest joke I'd ever told. "You did not win that!"

"Oh, yes I did," I answered, and made sure I was out of his reach just in case he decided to do it again.

"How?"

"With four Queens. Queens, huh? Funny?"

Finally he collapsed back down on the settee. "What do we do with it?"

I thought for a minute. "You don't suppose we could . . . . . . . "

"NO." His answer was firm. Bret and I felt the same way about brothels. Live and let live, I always say, but neither of us had much use for one. Unlike our friend Doc Holliday, who seemed to be particularly enamored of them.

"I suppose we could sell it."

"I suppose YOU could sell it."

"It's half yours," I reminded him.

"How do you get into these things?" Bret asked me.

I shrugged my shoulders. "By sheer accident?"

Bret sighed, and I knew I had him. That was his tell. We were in this together, whether he wanted to be or not.

There was only one thing left to do. "Breakfast?" I asked.


	4. Fifteen and Herman

Chapter 3 – Fifteen and Herman

Breakfast was unusually quiet. For once I couldn't figure out what Bret was thinking, and it bothered me more than I was willing to admit. It didn't happen very often, but I had no idea what was going on in his head. We were down to coffee and the last piece of toast before he said anything. "I suppose we should go take a look at the place before you try to sell it."

"Before we try to sell it," I corrected.

"Alright, fine, before we try to sell it."

I couldn't help but smile. I didn't know what we were gonna do with Belle Amour, but at least we'd do it together. After breakfast we walked to the corner of Washington and State streets and I, for one, was flabbergasted. The building was three stories tall and looked almost brand new. It appeared sturdy enough to withstand a war and was altogether an elegant and handsome piece of architecture. There was a small, tasteful sign over the front door, announcing 'Belle Amour' and nothing to indicate what Belle Amour was.

Until you stepped inside the front door. To say the accouterments were regal and tasteful didn't do the surroundings justice. It didn't look at all like a brothel, but rather like the front parlor of a wealthy Eastern millionaire. Yes, there was flocked wallpaper on the walls, but it wasn't red or gaudy in any way; it was expensive and subdued. There were beautifully upholstered settees and chairs, and the wood the furniture was constructed of appeared to be Cuban mahogany. Bret and I stared open-mouthed at each other. No expense had been spared when the parlor was furnished.

There was a small table with a gold bell in front of another door. Bret was closer and he picked it up and rang it, and I could hear very faint footsteps headed our way. The door opened and the most beautiful mulatto woman I have ever seen stepped out. She wore a gorgeous black silk dress, bright red lips, and had her hair pulled back from her face into some kind of an intricately woven bun. When she spoke it was with an accent that I'd never heard before.

"Well, gentlemen. Welcome to Belle Amour. This is your first visit here, yes? I must say the ladies are going to be particularly pleased to have two such fine looking visitors this morning. Follow me, please."

She turned and was gone back through the door so fast that neither of us could say anything. Bret looked at me and I nodded, and we hurried after her. We walked straight into one of the most elegant saloon's on the face of the earth, with plush furnishings and handsomely dressed ladies everywhere, every one of them wearing black silk of one design or another. There must have been five or six women, blonde, brunette and redhead, every height and shape you could imagine. All were young and exquisite. Their faces lit up when they saw the two of us, as we frantically tried to catch up to our hostess.

"Excuse me, Miss, we're not here to sample the . . . . . . er, ladies. My name's Bart Maverick, and this is my brother Bret, and we're the new owners of Belle Amour."

It was like somebody had turned a herd of bellowing, stampeding steers loose. In just a few seconds every one of them had us surrounded, all trying to talk at once. It was impossible to hear anything in the cacophony until the beauty who'd led us in finally whistled, quieting the noisy herd.

"Ladies, ladies," she admonished, and everyone looked guilty for a moment. "Let's give Mr. Maverick a chance to explain himself. I'm Lonnie del Cantera, Mr. Maverick, and the hostess at Belle Amour. Please have a seat and take a breath, I'm sure that the ladies were quite overwhelming. Would you like a drink, gentlemen?"

"Coffee?" Bret asked, almost timidly, and I shook my head.

"Please," I added.

"Something stronger, gentlemen? Whiskey, brandy?"

"No thank you, Lonnie. We don't drink."

A murmur went up throughout the entire group of ladies. The gentlemen that now owned the Belle Amour didn't drink! What was next? They didn't partake of parlor house services? That would be unheard of, with two such fine looking young men!

"Ladies, ladies, please settle down." Lonnie raised her voice to restore order. "Everyone go back to what you were doing." Just then the bell out front rang again and Lonnie sent a petite redhead off to answer it. "I have an office if you would follow me, please, where we can speak."

She picked up an ornate silver tray from the bar, with an equally ornate silver coffee pot and china cups, and took it with her as she walked briskly towards the back of the room. Once our eyes adjusted to the darkness, I could see a wooden door and I stepped forward to open it for our hostess. She glided through it with a nod of the head and took us into a richly appointed office, which had a round table and several chairs rather than a desk. Bret took the tray from Lonnie and set it down carefully on the table as I pulled her chair out for her. She looked at both of us like she wasn't used to being treated quite so respectfujlly.

"Now, Mr. Maverick, may I call you Bart?" I nodded. "And Bret?" she continued and got the same answer from Brother Bret. "And please, I'm Lonnie. Just how did you come to ownership of the Belle? I wasn't aware that Mr. Wharton had put us up for sale."

"He didn't, Lonnie. I won her in a high stakes poker game just last night," I explained. "I didn't even know what Belle Amour was, other than beautiful ladies. And they certainly are. Quite unusual to have everyone dressed in black silk, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is, but we find that our clientele likes it that way. Unless you'd prefer to see them in something else?"

"No, no, no," I answered. "Everyone looked just fine the way they were."

"Lonnie, were those all of the ladies out front this morning?" Bret inquired.

"Oh heavens no," she answered quickly. "Those are my morning and afternoon girls. There are different ladies for the evening. Fourteen all together, and me. I serve strictly as hostess. Unless you'd like to have a sample of our services, Monsieur? I would be more than happy to provide that for either, or both, of you."

I might be more than interested under normal circumstances if I was doing the courting, but not under these conditions. "Thank you, no, Lonnie. Neither one of us frequents . . . . . . uh, parlor houses."

"I see." She poured more coffee for both of us. "Do you have a moral objection to it, sir?"

Bret spoke up then. "No, ma'am. We just don't . . . . . participate."

"Are you going to shut us down?"

Before either of us could answer, there was a knock on the door and the petite redhead that Lonnie had sent to answer the bell stuck her head in. "I'm sorry, Lonnie, but George La Forge is back, and he wants to see Rosalie again . . . . on credit."

Lonnie shook her head. "I told him last time he had to pay his bill before we would give me any more credit. Did he do that?"

The redhead looked unhappy. "No, he didn't."

"Then the answer is no," Lonnie stated firmly. "No more credit."

"You . . . . . . . you . . . . . you do that on credit?" That was beyond my comprehension.

Lonnie got a sly look on her face. "Not anymore we don't. Back to my question. Are you going to shut us down?"

"What if we did, Lonnie?"

"You'd have fifteen wretched, unemployed ladies to contend with. Is that what you intend to do?"

I threw a quick glance over at my brother. I don't care what he was thinking, I wasn't going to be responsible for fifteen women being unemployed. "Not for the time being, no. Do you have a bouncer?"

"A bouncer. What for?" she asked in all seriousness.

"To protect the ladies," I told her.

She barely moved, yet I was soon looking down the barrel of a Remington Colt. "I serve that purpose during the day. At night, we have Herman. We tolerate nothing . . . . . unusual here."

"Good."

Before I could think of anything else to say, Lonnie asked, "Do you want to meet the ladies?"

"Yes." My answer.

"No." Bret's answer.

"Ah," Lonnie replied, "a difference of opinion. Perhaps we do not agree on absolutely everything?"

"Perhaps we do not."

"Come with me, then, and meet your employees."

I glanced at Bret, who looked profoundly uncomfortable, and he shrugged his shoulders. "Alright," I answered. And we both rose and followed Lonnie back into the saloon.


	5. Behind Closed Doors

Chapter 4 – Behind Closed Doors

The ladies had settled down in the saloon waiting to see what bad news I was going to deliver, as I followed Lonnie back in. Bret lagged further behind, and I had the distinct feeling he was going to have a lot to say to me when we left. Two of the bunch were drinking whiskey, the rest tea or coffee. Lonnie didn't waste any time.

"Alright ladies, no sampling today." There was a distinct moaning and groaning as if Bret and I were some great prize that they'd just lost. Of course, I gave serious consideration to what their normal clientele probably looked like and had to stop myself from grinning. "These are the new owners of Belle Amour, in case you didn't hear us before, Bart and Bret Maverick. As of this moment we are still in business and nothing's changed. Bart, Bret, this is Bonnie, Monique, Suzanne, Emily, and Marjorie." She pointed to each lady as she named them.

Bonnie was the petite redhead that had interrupted us in Lonnie's office. Monique and Suzanne were both blondes, Monique not much taller than Bonnie and Suzanne almost as tall as me. Emily had long dark hair and was a little plumper than the rest of the girls. Marjorie had dark hair, too, but it was cut shorter than everyone else's. All of them smiled prettily; Monique curtsied and giggled. The oldest looked to be Emily, and I doubt if she was a day over twenty. I tipped my hat to the ladies; Brother Bret did the same and finally smiled. How could you not, with this much beauty in front of you? Marjorie gasped when Bret's dimples appeared.

They were looking for me to say something, and Bret wasn't about to open his mouth, so I managed to speak. "Ladies, we're pleased to make your acquaintance. This is all very new to me, and not somethin' I've – I mean we've – ever been involved in before. For now nothin' will change, and we'll speak with each of you individually." A slight murmuring started, and I wanted to say something, anything, to reassure them. "Everyone is still employed; there's nothin' to worry about. Bret and I are gamblers, so we'll work somethin' out mutually beneficial to everyone. Lonnie, what time do the other girls come down? I presume they all live in the buildin'?"

"All but Dominique, she's brand new and hasn't moved in yet. They all come down about five in the evening."

I nodded. "We'll - I'll be back this evenin' to meet everyone else. Sometime later in the week we can start talkin' one-on-one. Is that alright with you, ladies?"

Heads nodded and murmurs of assent were heard. I took Lonnie's hand and held it for a moment. It was soft and smooth, and warmly alive. "Thank you for everything today, Lonnie. I look forward to seein' you this evenin'."

I tipped my hat again and strode out the front door, Bret close on my heels. It was bright daylight outside, and for a welcome change the sun almost blinded me. Something we didn't see for weeks in Sioux Falls.

"Bret," I said, and started to turn to my brother, but before I could do so he was beside me and had my right elbow firmly in his grip. He sort of pushed me in front of him.

"Back to the hotel, Mr. Nothin'-to-worry-about. We need to have a serious discussion."

"Alright, alright," I answered back. "There's no need to shove, Pappy. I'll go quietly."

He stopped pushing but never turned loose of my elbow, almost like he was afraid I'd run away the first chance I got. The way he was acting, I might have. I had no idea what was bothering him but something sure was. All the way back down Washington until we reached Caruthers, then another half-block to Natchez Avenue.

I was damn tired of being walked like a naughty child all the way up the stairs to our suite, and finally shrugged off Bret's grip when we got inside the room. "What seems to be the problem, Brother Bret?" I asked, with more than just a touch of sarcasm in my voice.

"What you do with it is up to you, but don't expect me to go back to Belle Amour. I'm done."

I'd heard that tone in his voice before, and I knew better than to argue with it. What I wanted to know was why? What caused the burr-under-the-saddle attitude from my usually easy to get along with brother?

From the look of the face that accompanied his pronouncement I wasn't about to go digging for an answer right now. So I did my best to try and sooth the savage beast. "That's fine. You don't have to if you don't want to. No hard feelings, alright?"

That seemed to settle him down some, and he nodded and almost smiled at me, then disappeared quickly into his bedroom. I was torn between wanting some sleep and wanting to find out why Bret was so upset, but I decided to talk to him later and get the much-needed rest now. I went into my own bedroom, to the bed that had yet to be slept in, and got ready to change all that. The last thing I did before laying down was set my gun belt on the bed next to my pillow, the spot it usually occupied ever since my run in with Rusty Meyers and the Sanborns in Montana.

XXXXXXXX

I slept most of the day, and probably would still be sleeping if it wasn't for all the commotion I heard going on out in our suite. I could hear Bret's voice raised, almost to the level of (for him) yelling, and another voice I'd never heard before. It was a man, and it was disturbed, to say the least. I got up out of bed and opened the door just a bit so I could hear what was being said, and it was none too pleasant, believe me.

"You're nothing but a whoremonger! A despicable pimp! Give me back my daughter!"

Bret was trying to be reasonable, even if he was doing it at an increased volume. "I don't have your daughter, sir, and I have no idea what you're talking about. Could you please stop yelling?"

I grabbed for my gun and opened the door. The man was in his late thirties, dark hair and a mustache, angry blue eyes and dressed like a cotton farmer. He looked up as soon as he heard my door and stopped yelling when his eyes settled on my gun. "I don't know what this is about, mister, but if you want to come inside and quit shouting out in the hallway maybe we can figure it out like gentlemen."

He took a minute to look from my gun to Bret and back again, and all the fight seemed to go out of him. He walked into the suite and over to a chair, where he dropped into it as if shot. Bret closed the door and sent a look my way that said, 'See, trouble already.'

"Mister . . . . ?" I started.

"Waxworth," the man answered. "Sam Waxworth. You're the owners of that awful place, aren't you?"

I was sure he meant our newest acquisition, but I wasn't going to make any assumptions at this point. "What place would that be, Mr. Waxworth?"

"Belle Amour. That, that . . . . . . hell hole."

"And what's your daughter's name, sir?"

"Suzette. Suzette Waxworth. My baby, my girl."

I finally holstered my gun. I didn't think Waxworth had it in him to do any physical harm to either one of us. That's when I noticed Bret was shaved and dressed, ready to leave for the evening. Without me? Looked like he was still unhappy.

I turned my attention back to our unexpected visitor. "To answer your question, Mr. Waxworth, as of about six o'clock this mornin', yes, we own Belle Amour."

Bret shot me a look that I promptly ignored. His general aggravation was going to have to wait until I'd settled things with our guest.

The man in the chair was confused. "Huh? What? Six o'clock this morning?"

I nodded in answer to his question. "Yes, sir, six o'clock this mornin'. That's when I won the establishment in a poker game. Downstairs, as a matter of fact. I didn't know what it was at the time; just thought it was a building and a business. Haven't even met your daughter. Are you sure she's there?"

He looked up at me, tears welling in his eyes. "Yep, she's there. Left home about two months ago. Won't even talk to me. Said she couldn't be a cotton farmer's daughter no more . . . . . . she's only seventeen years old . . . . . I don't care what she's been or done . . . . . I just want her to come home. Cen you help me?"

I sat down on the settee across from the poor man. "I don't know, Mr. Waxworth. But I can talk to her; see if she'll listen to me. Would that help any?"

"Yes, sir, it just might. Tell her I'm willin' to sell the farm and move out west with her . . . . if she'll just come home. I wouldn't do it before . . . . and she left, and went to that place . . . . but I'll do it now. Anything, anything she wants. You tell her that, alright?"

"I will, I promise. You gonna be alright now, Mr. Waxworth? I'll talk to her tonight, I promise."

He got up, a lot more calm than he'd been a few minutes ago. "I'm . . . . . I'm sorry for the ruckus. I just want my daughter back. You understand?"

I nodded again as I walked him to the door. "I do, Mr. Waxworth. I'll do everything I can to help." Once he was out the door I turned back to talk to Bret and he had disappeared back into his room, and the door was closed. Something out of the ordinary had disturbed my brother and I needed to find out just what it was before this went any further.


	6. The Return of Sally Bodeen

Chapter 5 – The Return of Sally Bodeen

By the time I got cleaned up, shaved and changed clothes, Bret was gone. He had every right; it was obvious he wasn't going back to Belle Amour with me. Still, something had indeed perturbed him, and I didn't know if it was the place or something I'd done.

I went downstairs and ate in the dining room, just in case I didn't get another chance tonight. That was entirely possible; once I get involved in something I tend to forget food. That's where Bret and I are different – he never forgets food.

After dinner I walked back to Belle Amour. It was another beautiful spring evening, but for some reason I was nervous. Maybe it was just reality setting in – the realization that I was now responsible for 16 people's livelihood – whether I believed in their chosen 'profession' or not. I'd never been in a parlor house before. Well, that wasn't exactly true. I'd been in them, just not for the obvious reason. I'd been in one to play poker, to drink, and even to retrieve Doc Holliday. Oh, and I'd been in one for a business meeting. Which, I guess, is what you might call why I was going there now. A business meeting.

First, I was going to meet the rest of my 'employees'. And that included Suzette Waxworth. I'd promised her father I'd do my best to convince her to return home, and I was going to keep that promise. Then there was the matter of meeting the ladies themselves. Trying to keep fourteen different women straight was not going to be easy. There'd be no problem keeping Lonnie straight. She was the most exotically beautiful woman I'd ever met in my life. And finally, my brother. Just what had Bret so upset or angry or whatever his mood was had me worried. We've had our differences over the years, but there was no reason for this, as far as I knew. If he was mad that I'd given him half of the winnings, I'd do whatever I could to make it right.

Before I had a chance to sort it all out, I was at Belle Amour. I walked in and rang the bell, waiting for Lonnie to appear again. I suppose I had the right to go on in, but I wasn't about to when I hadn't met everyone and I had no idea how large Herman, the bouncer, was. Lonnie didn't answer the door, however, but a buxom redhead did. "Well, hello gorgeous," she said, and I immediately flashed back to Dodge City and Sally Bodeen. The memory of Sally made me smile, and Lillian (I learned later) seemed just as happy to see me.

"Oh, I bet you're the new boss, aren't ya? Lonnie warned me you'd be comin' in and she said you were good lookin', but she didn't half do ya justice. She shoulda said you were magnificent!" She hooked her arm through mine and led me inside the saloon. I got quite a different reception from the ladies here this evening; they all seemed happy to see me and made me feel welcome, unlike this morning's cattle stampede. Everybody sat down and Lillian explained it all.

"Miss Lonnie had to go argue with the supply store about the liquor order. They shorted us champagne, again. I'm Lillian, and as you can tell I'm old enough to be these girls mama. And sometimes I am. I woulda retired a long time ago, but I have two regular gentlemen that come in just to see me, and bein' around all these fillies keeps me young. This here's the new owner, ladies, Bart Maverick, and I thought your brother was gonna be with you?" I shook my head 'no.' "Well, girls, just so you know, there's another one of these out there and I'm given to understand he has dimples!" That caused a stir, as my brother's dimples usually do. He didn't know what he was missing by not being here.

When the ladies quieted back down, Lillian continued. "Now, just so you know who's who, let me introduce you to everybody. Stand still ladies," and Lillian laughed a big, happy laugh that sounded just like Sally. I liked her already.

Again, she pointed just as Lonnie had when she reeled off names. "Rosalie, Laura, Jacqueline, we call her Jack, Frankie, Cornelia, Marguerite, and Suzette. Dominique moves in tomorrow. Herman's out back, I'll introduce you to him later. Got that?"

"Yes, ma'am. Rosalie, Laura, Jack, Frankie, Cornelia, Marguerite, and Suzette. Anything else you need me to remember?"

Everybody laughed as the bell out front rang and Rosalie went to answer the door. Rosalie was a little blonde, with short, bouncy hair. Laura was a statuesque brunette with curves everywhere, Jack was well named, she looked like a tall, willowy tom-boy. Frankie had light brown hair and beautiful green eyes, Cornelia was a medium height redhead with freckles, and then there was Suzette. Suzette Waxworth, whose father I'd made a promise to. Suzette was a pretty little thing, all dark ringlets and big brown eyes, and I had a hard time believing she was seventeen. She looked about twelve. I motioned Suzette over and she appeared bright and eager until I told her I wanted to talk to her, then she looked like someone had just stolen her pony.

"Lillian, I want to talk to Suzette privately. May I use Lonnie's office?"

"Sure, gorgeous. You are comin' back after that, aren't you?"

"Yes, ma'am, I'll be just a few minutes. Suzette?" I offered my arm, and she took it. We went back to the office and she seemed surprised when I pulled out her chair for her. A lady is a lady, no matter how they make their living, and needs to be treated as such. Lonnie had evidently passed the word that I was a coffee drinker, because Jack came in with a coffee pot and two cups, then disappeared as quietly as she'd appeared. Suzette poured coffee for both of us and sat back.

"I had a visit from your father this afternoon, Suzette." I wanted to see what kind of a reaction I got. Always the gambler mentality. Let your opponent make the first move.

Her lips curled up slightly. "My father, the cotton farmer."

"Your father the cotton farmer, who loves you very much. He wants you to come home."

She folded her arms across her chest. "I left because he treated me like a field hand. 'Suzette do this.' 'Suzette do that.' 'Not that way, Suzette, like this.' I'm not goin' back to that."

"He said to tell you he'll sell the farm and move out west if that's what you want."

Suzette was defiant. "Even after I've been a parlor house whore? A soiled dove? A nymph? An upstairs girl? He says that now, but he doesn't mean it."

I sat there shaking my head and drinking my coffee. "I think he's serious, Suzette. He sat in my hotel room and cried."

That finally got to her. "He . . . . he cried? My Pa cried? For real?"

"He cried. For real."

She finished her coffee and sat silent for a full minute, then shook her head, still not convinced. "That's today. Tomorrow he'll be right back to the same thing. Nope, I can't go back. You tell him that, Mr. Maverick, huh? Tell him I love him but I can't come home." She set the cup down and stood up. "I thank you very much for tryin' to help. Now, I have work to do." Suzette straightened her shoulders and walked out of Lonnie's office without looking back.

I'd tried. I didn't see there was much else I could do.

XXXXXXXX

By the time I left Lonnie's office Rosalie, Laura and Jack were gone, and Cornelia and one of the gentlemen I'd played poker against last night were just leaving. Lonnie was back and tending bar; she poured me a fresh cup of coffee, which I was grateful for. "Suzette?" she asked, and I nodded. "Her father again?"

"Not his first attempt, I take it?"

"No. And I'm sure it won't be his last. I had a long, long talk with her when she first came here, just to make sure she knew what she was getting into. She seemed to. Suzette hasn't been the problem."

"I understand her father. She'll always be his little girl. He just wants her back."

"Perhaps he should have thought of that before he treated her like a field hand."

Why did I defend the man? I have no idea. "Perhaps he had no choice."

Lonnie nodded and her earrings sparkled in the light. "Perhaps. But she's here now, and it's her choice to stay. I'm sorry I wasn't here to greet you."

"Do you often have problems with the supplier? Do you think it's deliberate?"

"I do, but I think it will stop for a while. When I spoke with him tonight I threatened to take the business elsewhere."

Lonnie was beautiful and intelligent, but more than that she appeared to care both about the business and the ladies. And I had the feeling she could be tough when she needed to be. "You run a tight ship, Lonnie."

"Tight but fair," she answered. "Does that bother you?"

"No, ma'am. Not in the least. I'm glad we're on the same side."

She stopped what she was doing and took a long look at me. "Yes, I think we are."

Very slowly a clattering and stumbling could be heard coming down the staircase, and a slight man in an odd looking hat was being 'escorted' down the steps by a very, very large man. I'm relatively tall, and I was dwarfed by him. Lonnie turned her head to me and said one word. "Herman."


	7. Fancy Thorndike's

Chapter 6 – Fancy Thorndike's

The man, whose name I found out later was Porter, stopped walking every few feet and was pushed back to movement by Herman. Besides being just about the tallest man I'd ever seen, Herman was, without a doubt, the largest. Any man that argued with him for any reason had to be insane. Herman would, in the future, prove to be as gentle as a lamb.

But not when it came to his girls. He had a riding whip in his hands and pointed it at Mr. Porter (told you I found out his name later) and told Lonnie, "He intended to use this on Rosalie."

We listened and heard the first door open, then the second door and Herman's voice boomed, "And don't come back, Porter." In two or three minutes Herman was back, and he came over and kissed Lonnie's hand. "How's my favorite girl tonight?"

Lonnie actually blushed, then giggled. Herman turned to face me and looked me over with a skeptical eye. "New customer?" he asked.

"New boss," Lonnie told him, and he immediately stuck out a rather large hand. "Mr. Maverick," and we shook. "Pleased to meet you. Sorry about Porter, but they can't hurt my ladies."

"I agree with you, Herman. I'm glad they have such a formidable champion. Call me Bart, please. You have much trouble like that around here?"

Herman shook his rather large head. "No, sir, not anymore. We did when I first started, but it's trailed off a lot."

I took a good look at Herman and knew exactly why. "You keep right on with what you're doin', Herman. It's nice to know the ladies have a champion like yourself."

Herman smiled and walked back upstairs, looking pleased. I glanced back at Lonnie, who was also smiling. "I would imagine just lookin' at him changes most men's minds."

"That it does. He's been a real Godsend on more than one occasion. Anything else you want to know? Before you look at the books, that is?"

"We can do that tomorrow, Lonnie. I never expected this to happen, ya know."

She nodded her understanding. "I see you came alone. Your brother looked . . . . . uncomfortable, this morning."

My puzzlement must have shown on my face. "I don't know what's wrong with Bret. But I will, eventually. Until then . . . . . . you can expect to see just me." I stood up straight and was ready to leave when Lonnie put a hand on my arm.

"Let me show you the back entrance. I'll have a key for you tomorrow."

We walked through the saloon and out a door I hadn't noticed. It wound through the whole bottom floor, the stockroom and another storage room of some kind, and came out on the far side of the building. There was a private alley that led out to the street, which Lonnie told me was Lafayette Street. "If you walk out to Lafayette there's two or three higher-end saloons and another hotel. Several of our regular gentlemen prefer to come in this way. Herman's usually out here, except when he makes his rounds on the two upper floors, to make sure the girls are alright. I try to be here when Herman's not. We usually don't get . . . . . busy, until the poker games break up. You might want to check the saloons if you're looking for Bret. It's the place he'd most likely be; most of the serious poker players are on Lafayette Street."

"Thanks, Lonnie. I'll check it out. See you tomorrow?"

"I'll be here, boss."

She went inside and I heard the lock on the door. Boss. Hmmmmm. That gave me something to think about.

XXXXXXXX

The first saloon I walked into was The Silver Slipper. It was loud and smoke-filled and smelled like a saloon. Still, it had an atmosphere that was definitely several steps above your average cow-hand bar. The clientele dressed a little better, the saloon girls were a little prettier, and every poker table was packed. Every single one. I walked through the place, pausing on occasion, but saw nothing of any great consequence. Nor did I see my brother.

Just a few feet further north was Ronnie's, and while it was quieter inside not much else seemed different. This saloon had two roulette wheels and faro games, with the poker tables again doing a standing-room-only business. Another trip around the gaming area turned up no other Mavericks, but this one caught my attention for some reason and I had coffee at the bar for a bit. If my brother was here he was doing a good job of hiding in plain sight. After twenty minutes and a cup of coffee I got bored and left.

The last saloon on Lafayette Street was Fancy Thorndike's, and it was in a class by itself. It reminded me a whole lot of Around the Bend in Carson City, my friend Anderson's haunt of choice. There was a cigar room, a gaming room for everything but poker, a poker room, and a saloon proper. I thought all the beautiful girls in Natchez were employed at Belle Amour, but I was wrong. There was one there . . . . . but it wasn't beautiful women I was looking for, it was my brother, and I finally found him in the cigar room, evidently taking a break from poker. He had his head turned as I entered and didn't see me take the seat next to him until he turned back my way.

"Got a light?" I asked, and I got a smile in return. That was an improvement over the last time I'd seen him.

"Sure," he answered. He gave me a light and then continued the conversation. "I love this room. Every saloon should have a cigar room."

"Reminds me of a place that Anderson took me in Carson City. Place called Around the Bend. That's the spot that's got that great coffee I told you about."

"Oh yeah. I remember you talkin' about that. What was it called again?"

"Black Carada. Best thing you'll ever taste. We should go to Carson City sometime."

"Sounds like a fine idea."

Ah, my brother seemed to have returned to his body. "Nice to have you back," I told him.

He started to say something, then decided against it and merely nodded. We sat until we'd both finished our cigars, then stood up together. "Goin' back to the saloon?"

"Naw, the hotel," he answered. "I'm tired for some reason."

Something was still bothering him, I could tell. I also knew that now wasn't the time to push it. "Alright. I'll be along soon."

"Don't win another brothel, huh?" was his parting remark. Something about the parlor house had gotten to Bret, and I needed to find out what it was. Something in his past that he hadn't shared? I'm sure there were minor things we hadn't told each other, but this seemed to be far more than that. I made up my mind to let it ride for a while, unless it got out-of-hand again, and see if he volunteered an explanation. After all, how long did he wait for me to tell him about Mexico? And to this day he still doesn't know everything. That was something I guess I needed to remember; some things were just too painful to tell. No matter how much time passed.

XXXXXXXX

Tonight's poker was a lot more like normal. There were ups and downs, and when I'd finally had enough for the night I was up about a thousand dollars. Not bad for a night's work. I thought about stopping in the cigar room for a minute and then decided I could just as well smoke on my way back to our rooms. There was a full moon out and some light, so it was easy enough to find my way back to the hotel.

I'd made my way down Lafayette and had just rounded the corner in front of Belle Amour and stepped out into the street. There was no one in sight; it was about two o'clock in the morning. Without warning I heard what sounded like a buggy and looked up just in time to see one come careening out of the side street. There was no time for me to get out of the way and no time for the buggy to move. I know one of the horses hit me full force, and that was enough to put me down and out.

When I woke up I felt like a herd of mustangs had run over me. My eyes didn't want to focus at first and it took a minute or two before I could see anything clearly. It was still nighttime, so I was outside. My head felt like a hoof had taken a good chunk out of it, and my always fragile ribs were as sore as the devil. And my right leg was bent underneath me at an awkward angle. Before I could try to get up I heard a soothing voice and felt a hand press gently on my chest. "Shhhh, don't move. Doctor's on his way." The only thing I could see was a pair of aquamarine eyes and then . . . . . nothing.


	8. Domino

Chapter 7 – Domino

"Bart. Brother Bart. Come on, son, it's Pappy. Wake up for me."

I heard the words and felt the hand on my face, but my eyes didn't want to open. I tried for what seemed like an eternity and finally gave up, slipping back into wherever I'd been.

Some time later I felt a different hand, softer and lighter in touch. "Come on, beautiful boy. Wake up for me. Big brother is worried about you." I tried again, and this time almost succeeded. Once more something reached up from inside me and pulled me back in, and I went with it willingly.

Very slowly I became aware of a faint humming, and I recognized the tune. It was a lullaby, and I'd heard it sung to me twice before, by Jody Maverick in Montana and Rose Garrett in Carson City. The humming went on for a few minutes, and then a soft voice sang the words.

' _Sleep my child and peace attend thee, All through the night_

 _Guardian angels God will send thee, All through the night_

 _Soft the drowsy hours are creeping, Hill and dale in slumber sleeping_

 _I my loved ones' watch am keeping, All through the night_.'

The voice was lovely, and the familiarity of the words soothed me. One more time I slid back down the rabbit hole, not knowing who it was singing to me and not really caring.

I could feel hands on my head, and the soothing touch of fingers on my face, and it was the same gentle touch I'd felt earlier. At last my eyes came open ever so slowly, and again they were unfocused, almost like I'd been hit in the face. I saw something in front of me, but it was minutes before I could focus enough to realize those same aquamarine eyes were right there, looking into mine. "There you are, we were worried about you." The eyes disappeared, but I heard the voice call to someone, "He's awake."

The next thing I saw I recognized immediately. Bret. With a smile on his face. "There he is. Gonna stay with us this time, son?" I tried to say something, but no sound came out. "Thirsty?" Bret asked, and all I could do was gaze at him.

Before I was really aware of what was going on, he'd lifted my head off the pillow and brought a glass with water in it to my lips. I was so thirsty, and all I could manage to drink was four swallows. At least that was enough to help my throat, and I struggled to get out "What?"

Bret chuckled a little. "See?" he said. "I told you he'd want to know what happened." He turned his head back toward me. "You were hit by a carriage as you crossed the street. Do you remember that?"

I tried to shake my head and felt nothing but pain. I could sense a bandage around it, and I knew I'd been right the first time I woke – the horse had taken a chunk out of me somewhere. "Careful, son. You've got two black eyes and you're real lucky your nose isn't broken. Don't be movin' that head around."

"What . . . . . else?" I got out ever so slowly.

"Bruised ribs. Doctor thinks one or two may be broken. Again. And that right leg – good thing you were out. Whole things black and blue. Kneecap was dislocated. Doctor Jackson and Herman got it straightened out. Gonna be usin' that cane you love so much again. Do you remember anything?"

"Not . . . much."

"That's probably best. Go on back to sleep now. You need rest."

Bret started to leave my line of sight and I reached up and grabbed his arm. "Where?"

"You're at Belle Amour. You were hit right outside. There was a spare room here and they brought you in once the doctor said you could be moved. Bart? Bart, are ya with me? Bart . . . . . . . . ."

I couldn't keep my eyes open any longer, but I could still hear Bret. He was talking to someone he didn't call by name, but I recognized it as the voice I'd heard singing the lullaby. Bret said something about coming back later, and the woman's voice said she'd stay with me. That's all I remember for a while . . . .

I woke up suddenly and didn't recall what had happened, or where I was. I tried to move and couldn't – it hurt everywhere. Finally in desperation I cried out, and those blue-green eyes were directly in front of me. "Shhhhhh, shhhhhh, it's alright Mr. Maverick. You're at Belle Amour, you were hit by a buggy outside. You can't get up, you were almost killed. I'm Dominique, I found you. Doctor says you have to rest. Please don't try to get up, you have to stay still."

I remember that her words didn't make any sense to me. What the hell was Belle Amour? Where was I? Where was Bret? Where was my brother? I had to get up and get out of there, get back to my brother and find out what was wrong. I tried to get up – it hurt too much. And then I heard that lullaby again, and it was like a balm for my frazzled nerves. Surely if she knew the lullaby everything was alright . . . . . no matter how I felt.

The next time I woke it was morning, and it was the first time I actually woke up. I remembered that awful instant when I realized I had an extremely immobile, massive object bearing down on me, and the split second of impact. Things after that were foggy; there were bits and pieces in my consciousness. The lullaby. The lullaby stood out more than anything, that and the eyes. My head throbbed and my vision was fuzzy, but I could see. This must be one of the rooms at Belle Amour, my brain reasoned, I remember turning the corner in front of the building right before . . . . . . . it was a buggy, and it had appeared out of nowhere.

I lay there for a few minutes and tried to move my hands. They worked slowly, sluggishly, and I reached up and felt a lot of bandages around my head. Then I made the mistake of getting too close to my face, and I sucked in my breath in pain. I made enough noise that those eyes appeared in front of me, and this time I could see the face that surrounded them. A good strong face, a beautiful face, with a turned up nose and amazing smile, all framed by strawberry-blonde curls. And a look of concern sliding the smile off her face as she watched me.

"Are you really awake this time?" that honey-flavored voice asked.

I startled her when I answered. "Yeah."

"What do you remember?"

"Dom . . . . . Dom . . . . Domino," I managed to get out, and it triggered a laugh.

"Alright, Domino it is. Do you know where you are?"

"Heaven."

Another laugh. "No, just Belle Amour. Your brothers here. I'll go get him."

"Wait," I got out. "Don't go."

"Alright. It can wait a minute, I guess. Do you remember anything else?"

My God, those eyes. I didn't care how much I hurt, I just wanted to look in those eyes some more. Finally I told her, "Horse."

"A rather large horse, I'm afraid." She brushed some hair out of my face, and I felt that soft touch again. "He did some damage to you, but nothing permanent, Doctor Jackson says. Right now you look like you went several rounds with Herman, and he was not gentle. Anything else from last night?"

"Lullaby."

"Oh, I'm sorry if it bothered you. I sing that when I'm . . . . . when I'm worried or afraid. You had me a little bit of both last night. This morning, I mean. I didn't see the accident, but I heard it, and it sounded awful. I was just moving in here and . . . . . you don't need to hear all this, do you? I'll go get your brother now, Mr. Maverick."

"Bart."

"I'm sorry?"

"Bart," I repeated, hoping that she'd understand I meant for her to call me Bart rather than Mr. Maverick. She grasped my feeble attempt at conversation.

"Alright, if you'd rather. Bart. I'll be right back."

I certainly hoped so. I was totally smitten.


	9. Hollister McCann

Chapter 8 – Hollister McCann

"Thought maybe you were mad at me. You wouldn't stay with me."

Trust my brother to make my accident about him. I tried to grin but must have looked pretty gruesome, because he grimaced and pleaded with me. "Stop, Bart, please stop. Don't even try to smile right now. It must hurt somethin' awful!"

"That bad?" I managed to get out.

"Worse, son, worse. How ya feelin' this mornin'?"

"Like a horse ran over me."

That got a laugh. "One did. You remember anything I told ya last night?"

"Some."

"Alright, here's the rundown. I don't know what happened, exactly, whether you stepped out in front of the buggy or what, but you got run over and knocked down and out last night. Dominique heard the noise and came runnin'; if she hadn't, I don't know how long you mighta laid there. Buggy drove off, didn't even stop. She yelled for Herman an he went for the Doc. They got you inside once Doc said you could be moved. Two black eyes, split lip, big ole gash in your head; then bruised and broken ribs, an a dislocated kneecap. Gonna hafta use the cane for a while till you heal."

"Nose?" I asked. I couldn't tell if it was broken or not; I could breathe with it, but that didn't mean much.

"Don't worry, that pretty nose ain't broke. What did Dominique call you? Beautiful boy? You will be eventually."

"Hotel?" Let's see if he could figure that one out.

"No, son, you have to stay here a couple days. Doc doesn't want you movin' around just yet. Dominique hasn't started workin', she'll be here to take care of you."

"Blue eyes?" I asked.

"Oh, you saw those, did you? I shoulda known. Yeah, she's got a soft heart. You're in good hands."

"You?"

"Me? I'll be with you today. I got a game tonight, back at the hotel. Gonna see if I can find out who hit you. They got some explainin' to do to me." Bret reached down and took my hand. The expression on his face and the tone of his voice got suddenly serious. "I wanna know why they hit you and left you there; and exactly who they are. And who needs to pay for it." Just as quickly as he'd grabbed my hand, he let go of it, and the smirk returned to his face. "Who'd you tick off this time, Brother Bart?" He laughed a little, but I knew he was serious about finding out who and why. "You hungry? Dominique's got some soup for you. I'm gonna get outta the way an let her feed you."

I started to say something and decided against it. Blue eyes was coming back.

XXXXXXXX

Obviously my jaw didn't look bruised, but it was – painfully so. I found that out the hard way when Dominique tried to help me eat. No wonder it had been so difficult to talk – it just hadn't started turning color yet. I attempted to sit up and feed myself, but between the mess called ribs and my bruised and battered hands I wasn't much use. Thank God the hands wouldn't be sore too long – I hadn't even thought about them being hurt, they were so minor in comparison to the way my ribs and head felt. I didn't remember it, but I must have raised them to try and cover my face when I realized the horse was coming right at me.

It wasn't easy, trying to eat soup when all you wanna do is stare at the person feeding you. I think she caught on where I was looking pretty quick, because she finally told me, "It would help if you'd watch the spoon, Bart." It's not my fault she had those gorgeous eyes. They were a lot more interesting than food.

She tried her best to clean me up, but I winced and pulled back pretty bad when she went to wipe my chin. "Sorry," she murmured, and I would have smiled but Bret'd already warned me about that. I heard a door open but couldn't see who it was until they came into my line of sight. Lonnie's smile appeared, and I was glad to see her. Now it was my turn.

"Sorry," I got out.

"Don't be silly," she replied. "You didn't do anything wrong. But I promise you this, we'll find out who did. Herman has an idea or two, and he's already shared them with your brother. Somebody needs to pay if this wasn't an accident. Guess we can't go over the books just yet, can we?"

She patted my left arm, and I managed to tell her, "Can wait."

"Good. Doc said you'd be a lot better in a couple of days. In the meantime, Dominique hasn't committed to working yet, so she's going to stay here and take care of you. Is that alright with you?"

It didn't take Lonnie long to see the light dancing in my eyes, and she smiled again. "I had the feeling it would be. She's a beautiful woman, Bart, just remember what she came here to do."

I heard her, but I didn't care. The eyes, the voice, the touch. Good for me or not, Domino had already laid claim to my attention. And maybe more than that.

XXXXXXXX

True to his word, Bret was there all day. Doctor Jackson came by in the afternoon and wrapped my ribs so I could sit up, then changed the bandages around my head and checked the crease in my scalp I'd gotten from the horse. I was glad he hadn't had to put any stitches in – scalp stitches drive you crazy with itching.

Jackson was quite young for a city doctor – maybe forty at the outside. Still, when he talked to me he addressed me as 'young man.' "Be careful with those ribs, young man." "Don't try to chew anything, young man." One more 'young man' from him and I was gonna bust out laughing, whether it hurt or not. Watching Bret listen to him talk I could see my brother felt the same way.

Bret could stand it no longer. "Doctor Jackson, you're not the Ancient Mariner, and we're not schoolboys. Why all the 'young mans'?"

That finally got a laugh. "Sorry, gentlemen, that's a bad habit of mine. When I first started out as a doctor I looked so young that everyone treated me like a child, so I got in the habit of addressing everybody as 'young man' or 'young woman.' Now it's just a bad habit. I apologize."

I tried to laugh and all it did was aggravate both my jaw and my ribs.

"Well, Mr. Maverick, you look better than you did last night. I'd like you to give that knee a couple more days before you get up on it. I'd really like it if you waited longer than that, but I have the feeling you won't. For heaven's sake, use a cane when walking! I'll be back to see you tomorrow afternoon." Doctor Jackson walked out of the door to the room and Lonnie followed him out. She left the door open partway and I saw her stand on tiptoes and kiss him. Good to know.

Come dinner time my hands were feeling a little better, but my dexterity hadn't improved any. The kitchen downstairs (yes, Belle Amour had one of those, too) had fixed me some scrambled eggs but I still couldn't quite hold onto a fork or spoon, so Dominique once again fed me like you would a baby. Something like that does a lot for your manhood, let me tell you. Although the fact that I could now sit up and look at those beautiful aquamarine eyes didn't bother me one bit. She was even prettier upright than she was when I was laying down. She seemed a little on the 'old' side to be a parlor girl for the first time, maybe twenty-three or four, and I had a feeling there was a story there.

"Is there anything else I can get you, Bart? Something to drink?" I'm sure she was probably referring to something stronger than I was about to ask for, but that wasn't on my mind.

"Coffee?" Of course, what else would I want?

"Coffee? Really? Not something stronger for the pain?" She seemed to think I was in awful pain. And I probably was. But I've also been in worse. The only thing I wanted to drink was coffee.

"Coffee. Just coffee."

"Alright, if it's coffee you want, it's coffee you shall have. I'll be right back."

And that's how I came to be sitting in a room on the second floor of Belle Amour when one Hollister J. McCann paid me a visit.


	10. Forms of Abandonment

Chapter 9 – Forms of Abandonment

I was waiting patiently for Domino to return with coffee when somebody walked into my room. It was a man I would come to know as Chief of Police Hollister McCann. At that exact moment, though, I had no idea who he was.

He was somewhere in his forties, dark hair in the process of turning silver. A handsome man, not quite as tall as me, and a bit heavier. He wore a mustache and a goatee and was the most elegantly dressed policeman I'd ever seen. He walked in like he was the one that owned the place and took his time studying me, and when he'd had enough I had no inkling of the conclusion he'd come to.

He cleared his throat and watched me curiously. "Maverick?"

I said nothing. I could see that made him uncomfortable, and for some reason it seemed the appropriate reaction for him to have. He left me with an odd feeling, one I couldn't put my finger on. Bret and I are both well practiced at reading people, but he was hard to get a handle on.

Finally I answered him. "That's me." It was an effort to try and sound perfectly normal, and I made the effort. For some reason I had the distinct impression I needed to show no weakness, even though it was obvious I'd just been in an accident of some kind.

"I'm Chief of Police Hollister McCann. I understand you're the new owner of Belle Amour."

"I am."

Chief McCann walked over to the chair that Domino had vacated and sat down. That put him about three feet away from the bed. Too close, my instincts were telling me, and it had nothing to do with his occupation. There was something about the man I didn't like, and even as beat up as I was my senses were sending me a warning message. Maybe it was the way he continued to scrutinize, sizing me up and disregarding me at the same time.

"I heard there was an accident of some sort."

Was that meant as a joke or a serious question? I was laid up in bed in front of him, wrapped in bandages from head to foot (well, head to knee), and he was being facetious? If this was a game he was playing, I didn't much care for it. There'd been no question asked, so I gave no answer.

"Do you know who did this?"

That one I had a reply for. "About 15 hands, black, with a white blaze."

"Very succinct, Mr. Maverick. And did you happen to get a description of the person or persons driving the – what was it? A buggy, a carriage, a wagon?"

"A buggy. No. The horse was too big to see around."

If that was the Chief's version of a laugh, I was unimpressed with it. "Very astute, Mr. Maverick. Did the person driving stop?"

"No."

"Do you have any enemies in Natchez, Mr. Maverick?"

I was trying to muster enough energy to answer the question when Domino came back into the room, carrying my coffee. She seemed startled to find someone there. "Can I help you, Chief McCann? Mr. Maverick really shouldn't have visitors right now."

McCann opened his mouth to say something before he saw Domino, but once he got a look at her he appeared to lose his wits. Or his tongue. Either worked for me.

Domino set the coffee cup down on the small table and waited for an answer. Chief McCann finally recovered. "I came to ask Mr. Maverick about the accident, Miss, uh . . . . . ?

"Mrs." Came Domino's answer. "Mrs. Hawkins. He's not in any shape to be answering questions just yet, Chief. Can this be done in a day or two, when Mr. Maverick's had some time to recover?"

I might not rattle the Chief in any way, shape or form, but Domino did. He quickly got to his feet and took his hat off. "Yes, ma'am, it can wait. Mr. Maverick, please come down to headquarters so we can discuss the accident when you're feeling up to it. Ma'am." He backed out of the room and closed the door behind him. I tried to chuckle and started coughing, and Domino had to rub my back to calm the spasm.

When I got my breath back all I could say to Domino was, "Well done."

"Pretentious man," was her comment, and I almost started coughing again. She'd certainly put McCann in his place. And that left me with something to think about. Mrs. Hawkins. She'd introduced herself as 'Mrs. Hawkins.' Was she married, widowed, or simply careful? My questions about Domino would have to wait. I couldn't drink coffee and talk at the same time, and I'd asked for the coffee. Bless her heart, she'd only filled the cup a little over halfway and it was lightweight; I was able to hold it and drink coffee on my own. My triumph of the day.

XXXXXXXX

Bret stopped in before he started his poker game; at least that's what Lillian told me. I was asleep and he wanted me to stay that way, so I heard about it from her when I finally woke up. I missed Domino there, but Lillian was in a chatty mood and I gathered a lot of information just by listening and going "uh-huh" every once in a while. Marguerite was a widow: her husband had been a deputy marshal and was killed in an escape attempt by a prisoner. Natchez had both a City Police Department and a U.S. Marshal's office. Laura'd lost her entire family to cholera in the swampland and had no other way to support herself.

Lonnie could have had an entire novel written about her. She was the daughter of a plantation owner near New Orleans and his housekeeper, a free woman, who he'd eventually married when the war was over. Lonnie had been educated in the finest New Orleans schools and spoke several different languages, and was married at one time. When her husband beat her she left him and moved to Natchez, where she started a new life. With her breeding and schooling, she could have done almost anything she wanted. She had no money, her father having lost all his wealth with the fall of the South, and she chose to be a 'parlor girl' until she became a madam and hostess for Oscar Wharton. There was also some gossip about her husband coming to Natchez to reclaim his wife. According to the stories, she'd shot and killed him in self-defense.

I listened to Lillian's tales about the girls until I couldn't keep my eyes open anymore, and then went back to sleep. When I woke the second time Domino was back and she had coffee waiting for me. As I drank the hot black liquid she admonished me to make sure not to "talk to strangers" and went to get me something to eat. Today I was able to hold my own fork, thank God, but the girl with the beautiful eyes stayed close just in case I needed anything. When I was finished, which took a while at the speed I moved at, she asked if there was anything else I needed and I grew emboldened by her sweet nature.

"Yes, ma'am. Information."

"Information about what, Bart?"

"Mrs. Hawkins."

She glanced down at her hands. "You caught that, huh?"

"Yes, ma'am."

She fidgeted in the chair she was sitting in and then seemed to make up her mind. "Alright, that's fair. My full name is Dominique Hoffman Hawkins; my husband was Richard Hawkins, and he was a cotton farmer. We were married for four years, and we worked hard until the drought hit last spring, and we lost everything. I kept telling him we'd be alright, and one morning I woke up and he was gone. He left me there with nothing. I did what I could until I couldn't even buy food for the livestock anymore, then I sold them off and lived until all that money was gone. I lost the farm and had nowhere else to go. I tried to get a job, any kind of job, and the only thing I could get was scrubbing floors at the saloons. So I took it, and I worked until Lonnie came to see me one day. She offered me more money, meals, a place to stay, and protection. And here I am. Now you know my story. What's yours?"


	11. Jackson and the Uh-Huh's

Chapter 10 – Jackson and the Uh-Huh's

I figured when I'd asked Domino for her story that she'd want mine. So I gave her the short, uncomplicated version.

"Youngest of two boys. Momma died when I was five. Pappy raised us to be just like him – honest poker players. Got drafted in the war, came back and started travelin' around. Not much else to it."

She'd watched me carefully while I struggled to give her the information. My jaw was still sore and had finally started to show bruising discolorations, and it wasn't easy to speak. When I was finished, she sat there for a moment and then shook her head. "Nope. There's way more than that, but I can see it's not easy to talk, or talk about. So I'll give you a pass for now. But someday soon . . . . . . . " she smiled as she left the room.

The door had no sooner closed than it opened again, this time for my brother. He too wore a smile and a new black hat and seemed in a good mood. "Brother Bart, how ya feelin' this mornin'?"

This time I could actually answer him. "Better. You?"

"Good enough to buy a new hat!" he laughed, and I was happy to see him in a better frame of mind than before I'd been run over.

"Poker successful?"

He gave me a little nod. "In more ways than one. Have you had breakfast yet?"

"Domino went to get it."

"Domino, huh? Be careful there, son. That's all I'm gonna say."

"Poker?" I asked again. I was relieved that he wasn't gonna pursue anything further about Dominique. I didn't know what my feelings were about Mrs. Hawkins, and right now I didn't want to try and figure them out. I was more interested in what my brother had discovered.

"Won big last night. Not as big as you, but big enough. Got some interesting information, too." Before he could go any further Domino was back with a tray. I had bacon, eggs and coffee. Bret started to pick up the fork and I took it away from him. He had a grin on his face. "Back to feedin' yourself, huh? Nice to see some progress."

"Would you like some coffee, Mr. Maverick?" Domino asked. "I'd be happy to get you a cup."

"Thanks, Dominique, I would. And please call me Bret."

"Yes, sir."

"Certainly polite," he commented as she left again.

"That she is," I answered. "Now, what else?"

"Well, you sure you're up to it?"

"Talk," I told him as I managed a bite of eggs.

"Mr. Wharton had fallen on relatively hard times," Bret started. "Seems his gambling desires exceeded his abilities, and the coffers had gotten a bit bare. He was actually gonna sell Belle Amour, assuming he could find a buyer, and that's why he had the deed and contract with him when you two played. I heard a good bit of speculation about the illustrious Chief of Police, too."

"McCann?"

"You've already made his acquaintance?" I had a mouth full and merely nodded. "He been here?" I nodded again. "Asking questions?"

"Yeah."

"What did ya tell him?"

"Not much."

"Good. Don't talk to him. Suspicion is he's on the take with business owners. Wharton may have been one of 'em. How'd you get rid of him?"

"Dominique ran him out."

"Did I do the wrong thing?" Domino asked as she came back with Bret's coffee.

"No, ma'am, you did exactly the right thing. Don't let him back in here, either. At least not for the time bein'," Bret instructed her.

"That's easy enough," she nodded and left again to give me and Bret some privacy.

"Anything else?"

"Not sure yet. Got a couple things to investigate. Oh, I brought this for ya." He set a book down on the table, and I shot him a questioning look. "Just somethin' to keep yer mind sharp."

It was 'Around the World in 80 Days' by Jules Verne. Always trying to expand my horizons, that brother of mine.

"Well, you seem to be a popular fellow," Doctor Jackson said as he entered the room. He shook hands with Bret, who vacated the chair so that the doctor could sit down. "Feeling better than the last time I saw you?"

"I am," I told him. "Any chance we can lose the bandages?"

"Well, we might be able to. Depends on what that gash looks like." He unwound everything wrapped around my head and did a lot of looking, including some poking and prodding and several "uh-huh's" before announcing, "No, not quite yet. It looks better, but I'd like to leave the dressing on it another day. I will promise a smaller bandage, though, if that makes you feel any better. Now, look straight at me and let me see your eyes."

I did as I was told and he ran all the tests he wanted to run, then examined what I supposed to be the bruising around the eyes and the rest of my face. He finally proceeded to my jawline and even the lightest touch made me wince. There were some more "uh-huh's" from the doctor, and one or two yelps from me before he finished. From there he proceeded to torture my ribcage, but when he was done there, he finally gave me some good news. "I revise my original opinion," he started and finished with "I don't think you have as many broken ribs as I first thought. There's only one or two that I'm certain of. You've had them broken before, haven't you?"

"Hasn't everyone?" I asked in all seriousness.

"Both sides?"

"Yes."

"Uh-huh. That accounts for it. I'm going to re-wrap your ribs for a day or two and then I think we can dispense with that measure. Now, let's take a look at that knee."

He did some more poking and prodding, and it didn't seem to matter how gentle his touch; every time he even thought about getting near the kneecap I wanted to scream. He looked at me like I'd done something I wasn't supposed to. "Have you been out of bed, Mr. Maverick?"

I shook my head. "No, Doc, I haven't. I swear. Not once."

That's when Bret asked, "What's wrong, Doctor?"

"Hmmm. Hmmm. Not sure, really. Some swelling I don't like. Why don't I come back later today and see how it looks. In the meantime, make sure you stay off of it. Everything else is making nice progress. All in all, I'd say you're a lucky man, Mr. Maverick. You could've easily been more severely injured, even killed. Well, you stay in bed now. I'll be back later today. Good morning, gentlemen." And without further warning he was gone, almost as quickly as he'd appeared.

There was a look on Bret's face I didn't like. "What?"

"I don't know. Somethin' was botherin' him. I'm gonna see if I can find out anything more. I'll see you later, son."

And just that quickly Bret was gone, too.

Domino returned, looking puzzled. "They both left in an awful hurry. Is everything alright?"

"I don't know," I told her, and that was the only answer I had. "Can I talk to you about something?"

"Anything you want," she answered.

"Doctor Jackson's worried, and it's my knee. I'm gonna be needin' help for a while, and Bret can't babysit me. How about if I pay you to stay at the hotel and help me get the things done I can't do alone? There's a suite with separate bedrooms and a big sittin' room. It'd sure work better once Jackson says I can leave here."

"What will Lonnie have to say about that?"

I couldn't help but grin. Ownership has its privileges, you know? "Lonnie works for me."

"Oh. Can I think about it?" She seemed hesitant and I wondered why.

"Have I done somethin' to offend you?" I asked her then.

"What makes you think that?"

"Your hesitancy."

She smiled then. "No. You've done nothing to offend me, Bart. I'd be glad to help until you don't need it anymore."

"Good. If anybody asks, you're my 'personal assistant'. I like the sound of that."

"I do too," she replied. "It's much classier than – "

"Don't say it," I interrupted. Whatever word she was gonna use didn't need to be said. That's not what she was, anyway. At least not yet.


	12. Bandages, Crutches and Splints

Chapter 11 – Bandages, Crutches and Splints

I'd just put my book down and decided it was a good time to take a nap when I heard the door open and sensed someone enter. I didn't open my eyes, just asked, "Domino?"

"Close," a familiar voice answered.

"Lonnie."

"Did I wake you?"

"No."

"So I see."

I opened my eyes to Lonnie's solemn face. "What's wrong?" I asked her.

"We didn't get to go over some things I think you should know."

"How about now?"

"Sure you're up to it?"

"Can't run out on you."

She smiled just at the corners of her mouth. "Alright. I didn't get a chance to show you the books, and I'm sorry for that."

"Not your fault," I reminded her.

"We turn a profit."

"That's a good thing, I guess."

"It is a business," Lonnie reminded me.

"I know. I just have trouble reconcilin' where most of the income is from."

"Actually . . . . . it's not. Most of the profit is from liquor sales."

I gave her my best businessman answer. "I said income. You said profit. Two different things."

"True." She nodded her head and sat down. "Emily's going to have a baby."

Ah. That explained the plumpness, the extra softness about her. "And Dominique told me you wanted to use her as an assistant."

"Yeah."

"Are you sure that's wise?"

"Maybe. Maybe not. I'm gonna need help, and she seems the most experienced for the job."

"And has the prettiest eyes."

"True." There was no use denying it, she did. And I didn't want her to start this life. At least not yet. There was plenty of time for that, later. That's what I told myself.

"That leaves us short an employee."

Now I understood. Lonnie had recruited Dominique to replace Emily. "Morning or evening?"

"Morning. I suppose we're alright for a while, but we can't wait too long to find someone."

"Alright. Has this happened before?"

"Yes. Once. Cornelia has a son. He's almost three years old."

"Does she live here with him?"

"No," Lonnie told me, "she and her sister have a little house on the other side of town. They live there."

"Good," I told her and wanted to clarify my answer. "For the boy's sake, I mean. He won't have it easy, growin' up." Lonnie was silent, but there was sadness in her eyes that hadn't been there before. "What's Emily gonna do?"

"She hasn't decided."

I made a quick decision. "Help her any way you can."

My hostess looked relieved. "Thank you."

"Were you worried about my reaction?" She certainly seemed to be.

"Yes. Oscar wanted her, well . . . . . .disposed of."

"What?"

"No, I mean, fired, dismissed, sent away."

"That's no way to treat a lady that, well . . . . . . "

Lonnie gave a short bitter laugh. "You and I might call them ladies; no one else does."

"Bret."

Another brittle laugh. "Alright, the three of us."

"Herman."

Now she was exasperated. "Four."

"Doctor Jackson."

"He's special."

"Because he's in love with you?"

I saw Lonnie flustered for the first and only time. "What makes you say that?" I didn't move a muscle, just sat and looked at her. And smiled. "Oh. Oh, I'm sorry. You weren't supposed to – "

"It's alright, Lonnie. It's none a my business."

She shook her head slowly. "My fault. I get careless when he's around. I forget that we . . . . I mean we shouldn't . . . . . I mean . . . . . he has a reputation to protect."

"Did you think I would object?"

"You . . . . . . no, I think you're different. I don't know why. I get the feeling I've never met anybody quite like you."

That was a good thing, I think. In any event, I wasn't about to question her judgement. "Anything else?"

"Yes, one more thing. Hollister McCann."

"Oh, yeah. I've already met him. Unpleasant fellow."

"You have no idea. Watch your back with him."

"You're the second person to warn me about him."

"Oh? Who was the first?"

"My brother."

That elicited another kind of smile from her. "Very astute. Your brother is a wise man."

I kind of chuckled. "I like to think so."

Lonnie stood up and patted my hand. "Alright, I've taken up enough of your time for today. Go to sleep, like you were going to. Get well. I have a feeling we're going to need you before this is all over."

And, like everybody else in this place, she was gone. She'd left me to wonder just what she meant. Before what was all over?

XXXXXXXX

I woke up slowly, again to the sound of humming, but this was a different voice. One I hadn't heard before. I saw the red hair and knew right away. Bonnie. The humming stopped abruptly.

"I'm sorry. Did I wake you up?"

"No. Bonnie?"

"That's me," she smiled happily. "Can I get you anything? Coffee, water, a drink?"

"How about some water and a head that doesn't hurt?"

She giggled prettily and made a suggestion. "Aspirin?"

"Can't take it," I told her. "And some coffee?"

"How about some food to go with that?"

I would have shaken my head, but it hurt too much. "No, thanks. Not just yet."

"Your brother was here. He just stayed a minute but he left you this." Bonnie handed me a deck of cards and left to get my water.

"Of course he did." Trust Bret to make sure I had a deck. At least I could start getting my hands back to normal. I picked them up and began shuffling, and was surprised that they were more flexible than I expected. Especially after I did the one handed ruffling I've been doing since I was a kid – my fingers were a little stiff, but it still worked. After my hand and wrist had been broken in Mexico, I knew I was finally back to normal when I could ruffle the cards without even thinking about it. Bonnie returned with my water, then sat down and watched, seemingly fascinated. I don't have an audience very often, so I did every maneuver with a deck that I could think of. I had her in the midst of some serious giggling at one point.

I was indeed lucky, and I knew that. Every time I thought about the size of me versus the size of that horse I was thankful I was alive. After I'd performed all my 'tricks' for Bonnie twice she was begging me to show her how to do one, and I gave her a lesson. We were having such a good time that I didn't notice when the doctor came into the room. He must have stood there and watched us for two or three minutes before he finally broke into a round of applause.

"Quite educational, Mr. Maverick. How long have you been doing those?"

"A long time, Doc. I picked up my first deck of cards when I was three years old."

"Impressive. If I ever need to learn how to handle a deck of cards – "

"Too late, Doc. Your hands are needed for other things."

His head nodded up and down. "Speaking of which, I've given some thought to your kneecap. I'd like to put a splint on your leg for a while to see if that helps stabilize the kneecap itself."

"For how long, Doc?" I was hoping for just a day or two.

"Probably two weeks," his reply came back.

"How mobile can I be with a splint?"

Jackson kind of chuckled before telling me, "More mobile than you are now."

"And if we don't?"

"Want to be able to walk again without pain?"

That didn't take any time to decide. "Ok, Doc, whatever you say."

Doctor Jackson called Bonnie over to the corner of the room and whispered to her. She nodded and hurried out of the room, and I was curious where the doctor had sent her. "You need somethin', Doc?" I asked.

"What? Oh, no," and he shook his head. He'd been looking at my knee again, then wrapped, bandaged and splinted it. By the time he was done Bonnie had returned carrying . . . . . a pair of crutches. They wouldn't be the most comfortable things in the world, but I'd had to use them once before when I was a Galvanized Yankee and caught an arrow in the leg. At least I had some experience with them.

"So does this mean I can leave here and go back to the hotel, Doctor?" I asked.

"Certainly, as long as you can get somebody to help you up and down the stairs. I can come by there just as easily as here to check on you."

Ah, Bret. I knew having a brother would come in handy sometime. Now all I had to do was wait for Bret to show up, and Domino to come in for her 'evening' shift with me.


	13. Moving Day

Chapter 12 – Moving Day

So several days later than I expected to get back to our hotel room, I was officially liberated from confinement at Belle Amour and returned to the second floor of the Chez Natchez. I was still getting used to the crutches that Doctor Jackson had Bonnie fetch for me, and it took both Dominique and Bret to help get me up the stairs.

Then we had to figure out the sleeping arrangements. Bret and I switched bedrooms because his room was bigger, and there was a settee large enough to use as a bed in it. Other than the fact that my brother mumbled to himself the entire time he and Domino were switching closets, it all went pretty smoothly. Even though I'd been made to feel more than welcome at Belle Amour, it was much more comfortable back at the suite.

"Well, now that we've got you back where you belong, what's the first thing you want me to do?" Domino asked me.

"I want you to go shopping with Bret," I told her, and she turned to stare at me in surprise.

"Whatever for?"

"Bret!"

In just a minute my brother appeared in the doorway to the bedroom. "Whatta ya need, son?"

"I need you to take Domino shopping. She needs some clothes – if she's gonna be my assistant for a while, she needs to look the part. Plus two or three different evening gowns for dining here – and elsewhere. You know how she should be dressed. There was a fancy dress store right next to the tailor – take her there. You can see how they're doin' on our clothes."

Bret looked at my new 'assistant.' "Dominique, would you excuse us for just a minute, please?"

She nodded and left the room, Bret moving inside and closing the door. "What are you doin'?" he asked me.

"Gettin' Domino appropriately attired," I told him.

"You're gonna spend all that money on somebody you barely know?"

"Use your head, man. If I'm gonna sell Belle Amour I have to look like I don't need to sell it. And if my assistant is wearin' the kind of clothes Domino's got now, I'm gonna look like I do need to sell it. That'll cost me money in the end. Besides, she's a beautiful girl. She should have beautiful things at least once in her life. You know how she should dress. Do this for me, huh?"

I could see the doubt in Bret's eyes. I also knew that I'd he trusted my judgement when it came to business decisions, and that's what this was. Strictly a business decision. Finally, he gave in.

"Alright, I'll do this. Then I'm out of it." He grabbed the doorknob and left the room. There was the attitude he'd exhibited the first time he told me he wouldn't go back to Belle Amour. What was going on with Bret? Now that I was back I had to find out.

Domino came back into the bedroom. "Bart, I can't let you do this. You can't buy me clothes."

"Why not?" I asked her in all seriousness.

"It isn't proper."

I almost laughed, then thought better of it. Domino had accepted a job at a parlor house, a bordello, but it wasn't proper for me to buy her clothes. I knew that this was a lady and I would do everything in my power to keep her from working for – me, actually. "Come here and let me explain my reasoning to you, Domino." She sat down next to the bed and I thought about something that hadn't crossed my mind before. "I never asked – do you mind that I call you Domino?"

She blushed a little, for the first time. "No. I think it's . . . . . . sweet."

"While we're here, I want to present a particular – image. Part of that is this hotel suite. Part of it is lookin' affluent – and that includes my assistant. You need to dress the role – and Bret knows what that looks like. It's business, alright? I don't mean to be improper." I was being as vague as I could get away with. For the time being I didn't want to reveal to any of the ladies, including Lonnie, that I was looking to sell Belle Amour. Fortunately, Domino accepted my explanation.

She finally nodded her understanding. "Alright. When you put it like that, I understand. I'll go on one condition."

"What's that?"

"You let me get you some coffee before I go."

XXXXXXXX

They were gone for two hours, and I got both some reading and some thinking done. If I was going to sell Belle Amour (you notice I said if) then I needed to get acquainted with the financial statements and find out who had their hand in the till, because I had the nagging feeling somebody did. Lonnie? For some reason, I didn't think so. Hollister McCann? A much more likely suspect. Maybe even Oscar Wharton himself? If so, it wouldn't be the first time a business owner had 'stolen' from himself.

By the time Domino and Bret returned I was more than willing to try and negotiate the stairs again to get some dinner. Bret was laughing and sounded a whole lot happier than he'd been when he left. Domino seemed quiet but looked pleased. She came in and showed me the 'assistant' clothes that Bret had bought, and they were exactly the type of thing I was looking for.

"What about the gowns?"

"They'll be ready tomorrow. They have to be taken in by the seamstress. We got two black and one – no, I think I'll make you wait until you see it."

Bret ducked his head in the doorway. "You ready for dinner?"

"More than ready."

"I'll go order it."

"No, let me," Domino interjected. "I'm the assistant, remember?"

So Bret and I told her what we wanted and off she went. "She's a sweet girl, Bart. You gonna try . . . . . "

"To talk her outta workin' there? You bet I am."

"I checked with the tailor. Our clothes'll be ready in a couple days."

"Good. By then I might start to look human again."

He sat down and carefully grabbed my chin, turning my head this way and that. I was surprised, it wasn't near as sore as it had been before. "You've looked worse," he so generously told me.

I'd been waiting for a good time to bring this up, and it seemed to have suddenly presented itself. "Bret, somethin's not right with you. And it's got to do with Belle Amour."

"You mean besides the name of the place? Momma's name?"

"Yeah, besides that."

He fiddled with the blanket on the bed and acted like he didn't want to answer me. And in a way, I guess he didn't. I didn't mind that he had something I wasn't privy to, everybody's entitled to their secrets; their own private life. I certainly had mine. It was the fact that it bothered him enough to let it affect our relationship. Except for those few months that I had Caroline, my brother was the most important person in my life, and if something bothered him enough, then it bothered me, too.

I think he was just about ready to tell me, too, when Dominique returned to the suite. She was back quicker than I'd expected. Bret let out a sigh of relief and got up from the chair, ceding it to her. I guess I'd have to wait to find out.


	14. Ghosts of Future Passed

Chapter 13 – Ghosts of Future Passed

We fell into a routine that seemed to work. Domino helped me get up and dressed in the morning and accompanied me to breakfast in the dining room. If Bret was so inclined, he'd join us. Most mornings after that we went to the livery and I visited with Noble while Dominique waited for the buggy that we'd rented to be ready, then we'd go exploring. Natchez was an interesting and old city, and there was a lot to see. I just wanted to get out into the air and not look at the four walls of the suite.

Some mornings we went to Belle Amour and some mornings we didn't. It depended on what was bothering me that particular day, and how restless I was about it. One morning I went to have a long talk with the liquor supplier and negotiated a new deal, one that didn't leave any room for short shipments or forgotten deliveries. Lonnie was pleased that I'd taken that burden off her shoulders.

Emily stopped working and concentrated on taking care of herself. Lonnie found her a little house close to Cornelia's and I quietly bought it for her. Oscar Wharton might have been unfeeling about her plight, but I couldn't be that way. And you should have seen the smile on her face when Lonnie gave her the keys to the place.

Miss del Cantera, Dominique and I spent an entire day going over the books, and I was quite impressed with the way everything had been handled. The only questions I had concerned a regular expense listed only as 'Owner Draw'. Lonnie explained that the funds went directly to Wharton, and I knew I was going to have to go see the former owner for a more precise explanation. Was this the funds siphoning that I was looking for? The withdrawals had, of course, stopped once I assumed ownership of Belle Amour. And Wharton hadn't been seen in or near the premises since then.

But Hollister McCann had. He'd been around two or three times, ostensibly on the pretense of looking to speak with me. Lonnie told him where I was staying every time he showed up, but so far he'd not been inclined to come to Chez Natchez. That was just fine with me – I didn't like the man at all. That was unusual; most times I could tolerate someone even if I didn't much care for them. Something about the Police Chief just seemed to rub me the wrong way.

Back to the books for Belle Amour. There'd been some minor disturbances with 'customers' recently and the first thing I told Lonnie to do was have Herman work more hours per week and increase his pay. Herman was a priceless asset, and the place required him as much as any of the ladies. They deserved to feel safe and protected, and I was determined to see to that. Belle Amour needed to have the best of everything, especially the ladies, if I was ever going to sell it.

Two weeks passed quicker than I expected them to, and Doctor Jackson was finally pleased with the progress my immobilized kneecap seemed to make. The afternoon he told me he was going to remove the splint I was a happy man. It's easy to take moving your leg for granted until you can't, and I was more than ready to regain the ability. After all, I still had several weeks of using the cane again to look forward to.

Dominique and I spent almost every waking minute together, and we grew to be friends. She hadn't pushed me for any further explanation of my life in the 'wilds' of the west, and I was grateful for that. She was organized, had a good memory, and looked beautiful when I escorted her to dinner. Whenever I played poker in the gaming room downstairs she had free time to do whatever she liked, and I didn't question her about what she did or where she went. She seemed happy enough and I found myself depending on her more and more.

The second night after the splint was removed I took her to dinner at the Carriage House. She'd dazzled me the first time she wore one of the gowns that Bret had purchased for her, the only one that wasn't black, and she wore it this night. It was a rich, deep lavender color and set off her eyes so beautifully that they sparkled. When we walked in every eye in the place turned to gawk, and it certainly wasn't at me. I don't think she had any idea just how dazzling she looked. I was still using the cane and I was nothing more than a tag-along as her escort.

We had wine with dinner and Dominique finally resurrected the topic of my life before we'd met. I was hoping that she'd forgotten her quest to hear more of my history, but no such luck. It seems that Bret had made an offhand remark while they were shopping that first night we were back in the suite, and she'd tucked it away to ask about later. I had no intention of playing poker that night and had decided to have a second glass of wine, an unusual move on my part. Maybe that's the reason I finally gave in and answered her questions.

I told her about growing up in Little Bend with Bret and Cousin Beau, and the loss of Momma when I was just a little fella. I explained the poker education we'd all received from Pappy and Uncle Ben, and the desire to be exactly like Pappy for both my brother and me. From there I meandered into the trouble I'd almost gotten into when I was fifteen and running with Fred Taylor and Earnie Night, then wandered into being drafted into the Confederate Army and captured by the Yankees. The years as a Galvanized Yankee followed, and our eventual return to Texas and the trouble we'd had there. I explained our friendship with Samantha Crawford and how I'd gotten myself into owing her a favor.

I drank the last of my wine and screwed up my courage; finally telling the long, sad tale of my marriage to Caroline and the aftermath, including a lot of the details about the six months in Mexico. I did not tell her about the night I spent in the livery and the misfire of my Colt – that was something she didn't need to know. From there I went through the rest of my adventures and disasters, including the time spent in Montana and my near-hanging, the year 'lost' in Arizona thinking I was Doc Holliday, and both my stint as Rory Emory in Mexico and my saloon manager days in Dodge City, plotting and planning to get revenge for Bret's 'murder.'

She sat and listened to all of it, not saying much and asking only an occasional question. By the time I finished we'd left the Carriage House and walked back to Chez Natchez, slow and steady exercise that the doctor insisted was good for my knee. We were sitting in the suite as I explained the winter months spent in Sioux Falls and the eventual reason for the trip to Natchez. Dominique had been unusually quiet once we'd returned to the hotel, and when I finally fell silent we sat for a good five minutes before she said anything.

"Quite a lot of living in a few short years."

"Mmmhmm," I answered. "Don't you wish you'd stuck with the short version?"

She slowly shook her head. "No, not really. Now I understand why you seem so tolerant and compassionate towards people you barely know. Life hasn't been easy or happy for you, has it?"

I laughed at her assessment and she stared at me as if I'd lost my mind. I figured my life had been pretty good for the most part. I was still alive, as was the majority of my family, and I was living in relative luxury at the moment. Happiness? I'd had a moment or two of that, and still harbored hopes of finding it again someday.

"I'm not complaining."

"Even about your wife's death?"

I glanced away from her for a moment before giving her an answer. "That was a long time ago."

"Was it?" she reached over gently and turned my face back towards hers, then leaned in and kissed me. I was surprised; I hadn't expected it. The kiss was tender and sweet, but I pulled away from it quickly; that was not the way I wanted to kiss her. She reached for me again, and at last I reciprocated, taking her in my arms and kissing her the way she should be kissed.

This time she was the one surprised, and she seemed hesitant at first like she was afraid to let go. Then she gave in to her feelings and we kissed for long minutes. She was warm and beautiful, and most of all alive, and right there in my arms. And there was no Caroline Crawford, or Richard Hawkins, or anybody else in the room. Only us.


	15. Secrets and Lies

Chapter 14 – Secrets and Lies

I wanted the pounding to stop, but it wouldn't. The pounding wasn't in my head, it was on my bedroom door. "Alright, alright, I'm comin'," I grumbled, and got up to answer it. It was Bret.

"We need to talk," he told me, and wisely pulled me out into the sitting room. "Is Dominique awake yet?"

"Why would she be? I sure wasn't. Isn't it a little early for you?" I could see through the windows that dawn was just breaking through the night sky. Then I took a good look at Bret. He was still dressed for a night of gambling; apparently, he'd just come in.

"Somethin's happened."

I yawned. "Somethin's always happened. What is it now?"

"Oscar Wharton's dead."

"What?"

"You heard me. Oscar Wharton's dead."

"How?"

"Don't know yet. Just heard about it."

"Well, that certainly changes my plans."

"Your plans? What plans?"

He'd given me the opening I'd been looking for, but at the worst possible time. "You don't want to be involved with Belle Amour, remember?"

And to my surprise he agreed with me. "You're right, I don't. But I thought you should know. Goodnight. Or rather, good morning." And with that, my brother walked across the suite and into his bedroom, closing the door behind him.

I did the same thing, getting back into bed and under the covers. And gathered Domino back into my arms, where she'd been before Bret woke me.

XXXXXXXX

Two hours later I was woken up for good by more knocking, this time on the door to the suite. I hoped that if I ignored whoever it was long enough they'd go away, and eventually they did. The beauty lying next to me stirred, and I reached over and gently kissed her eyelids. "Mmmmmmmm," was the sound she made, and my kisses moved down to her nose, then her lips. When I reached those, she kissed me back and opened those gorgeous eyes. "Morning," she whispered.

"Morning," I whispered back to her. "Did the banging on the door wake you?"

"Sort of. Who was it?"

I chuckled a little. "I don't know. I was too comfortable to get out of bed."

"We should get up, hmmm?"

"No." And we didn't.

XXXXXXXX

Finally an hour later, I did get up. Dominique was asleep again and I let her stay that way, closing the bedroom door behind me as I went to see if there was any kind of message at the door. There was, a note from the hotel clerk that Chief Hollister McCann had been to see me and requested my presence at police headquarters. I was almost certain this must have something to do with Oscar Wharton's death, but why he wanted to see me was beyond my comprehension. I hadn't seen or heard from Wharton since the morning he lost the poker game.

While I was contemplating the message in my hand I heard a door open and was surprised to see Bret, fully dressed in different clothes, coming across the sitting room. "Thought you'd be asleep," I told him.

"I tried. Too much on my mind."

"Uh-huh. Too much what on your mind?"

He didn't beat around the bush. "You. And Belle Amour.

"You gotta make up your mind, Brother Bret. Either you wanna be involved with Belle Amour or you don't. But you gotta quit tossin' an turnin' about it, once and for all." He just kinda dropped onto one of the settee's and gave me a look.

"You're right, I know you are. There's things you don't know that you should. Can we talk about this? Without Dominique around?"

"Why? What can't you say in front of her?"

"It's not her I'm worried about, so much as - "

Another case of bad timing. Domino opened the bedroom door and walked out before she stopped abruptly when she saw Bret. "Oh, I'm – I mean, I didn't know. I thought you'd be asleep, Bret." She was still in her dressing gown, but she had my cane in her hand. "I thought you might need this." She smiled weakly and handed it to me, then went back into the bedroom and closed the door.

Bret looked at the closed door, then shifted his gaze to me. He sighed, and I could tell from the expression on his face he'd guessed that our relationship had changed. I leaned heavily on the cane as I walked around to a chair and sat across from my brother.

He still had that 'will you never learn' look on his face, but I ignored it. "What is it I should know?"

"There's things I need to tell you. But not here."

I was tired of this game, whatever it was, and wanted answers. "Where and when?"

Bret got up to leave. "After breakfast. That ride you and Dominique take? Send her on an errand. I'll drive the buggy."

"Alright. I'll meet you at the livery at noon. How's that?"

"Works for me. And . . . . . . be careful."

"Of what?" I asked him, but he was already out the door before he heard me. What was going on? And why didn't he want to talk in the suite? Or was it around Dominique? I wasn't happy about it, but I was gonna have to wait until at least noon to find out.


	16. The Inquisition

Chapter 15 – The Inquisition

We had a quick cup of coffee at the hotel and headed for Police Headquarters. It was only a few minutes north of Chez Natchez, and Dominique and I decided to walk. It was now the end of April and days were getting warmer and longer, and it was a beautiful morning.

The police station was a busy place, but we were ushered into Chief McCann's office almost immediately. He was at his desk talking to one of his officers, whom he dismissed as soon as we were shown in. Much to my surprise he stood when he saw Dominique, and seemed much more professional towards me than he had at Belle Amour. "Mr. Maverick, Mrs. Hawkins, please have a seat. Mrs. Hawkins, are you attending Mr. Maverick as a nurse?"

"She's my personal assistant, Chief McCann. Why did you want to see me?" I was curious why it had taken McCann over three weeks to continue our conversation about my 'accident.' Then I found out – it wasn't about that at all.

"Mr. Maverick, Oscar Wharton was found dead in his home this morning."

"What does that have to do with me?"

"He was a victim of foul play, I'm afraid."

I still didn't see the connection. "Again, Chief, what does that have to do with me?"

"He was killed with a Remington Derringer .41 caliber, Mr. Maverick. Don't you carry one of those?"

"Are you asking me if I killed Oscar Wharton, Chief McCann?" Just where was he going with this?

"No, sir, I'm asking you if you carry one of those."

That was a problem. I did, until the night of my accident. By the time I got my shoulder holster back, there was no gun in it. No one knew what had happened to it. "I did."

"You don't anymore?" There was just a hint of disbelief in his question.

"No, McCann, I don't anymore."

"Why is that, Mr. Maverick?"

"It was lost the night of my accident."

"Mrs. Hawkins, I understand that you're the one that found Mr. Maverick that night?"

So that's why the chief hadn't objected when Dominique came in with me. He had questions for her, too.

"Yes, Chief, I found him."

"And did Mr. Maverick have a derringer that night, Mrs. Hawkins?"

He didn't rattle her in the least, if that was his intent. "I don't know, Chief. I didn't see one, but that doesn't mean anything. I was more interested in whether Mr. Maverick was alive or not."

"Would you recognize it if you saw it, Mr. Maverick?" He turned his attention back to me.

"I believe I would, Chief." It was the derringer I'd bought in Mountain City, Arizona, when I still thought I was Doc Holliday.

"Perkins!" McCann yelled, and a uniformed officer came in carrying something. He handed it to the Chief, who set it down on his desk in front of me. "Is this it?"

I picked the derringer up and looked at it. It was mine alright, with an inlaid black marble-like handle and a small chip in the corner. Good thing I'm always playing poker with lawmen, whether they know it or not. "Could be."

McCann had a good poker face, too. I wondered if he played. "Not sure?"

"Well, it looks like it, but I can't be positive. Where'd you find it?"

"At Oscar Wharton's."

A chill went up my spine. Hadn't I been through this before, in Montana? "Maybe Mr. Wharton found it after I was hit?"

"That's possible, Mr. Maverick. Have you seen Mr. Wharton since the night you won the Belle Amour from him?"

I shook my head. "No Chief, I haven't."

"Not at all, Mr. Maverick?" I knew what he was after, and I wasn't going to give it to him. I hadn't seen Wharton since that night, although I'd wanted to.

"Not at all, Chief."

"And where were you last night, Mr. Maverick?"

"Mrs. Hawkins and I were at dinner at the Carriage House."

"At what time?"

I looked at Dominique. "From about seven until well after ten o'clock."

"And after that?"

"We were in Mr. Maverick's suite, Chief."

"Doing what, Mrs. Hawkins?"

She looked him right square in the eyes and didn't blush. "Sleeping."

"And you'd be willing to swear to that?"

"I would."

He sat there for a moment or two, deciding on his next course of action. His decision made, he told us "Thank you Mr. Maverick, Mrs. Hawkins, for coming in and answering my questions. If I have any further inquiries, I know where to find you."

I had to ask. "And if that turns out to be my derringer, Chief, when can I have it back?"

"After we determine who used it to kill Oscar Wharton, Mr. Maverick."

XXXXXXXX

Dominique stayed composed when pressed, I'd give her that. We left McCann's office and strolled casually through Police headquarters and back out into the sunlight. Once we got about a block away from the building I felt Domino's body go a little slack against mine and we stopped for a moment. "You alright?" I asked.

"Does that happen to you often?"

"It has, but I must say it's never worked out quite so perfectly before. You did well in there."

She gave me a little smile, then. "Did I? I was terrified."

"Nothing to be afraid of," I told her. "We didn't do anything wrong."

"True. But he's still intimidating." She was shaking now, I could feel it.

"That's his job," I reminded her.

"I'm starving. How about some lunch?"

"Can't," I responded. "Promised I'd meet Bret, he's got something he wants to discuss with me. You go ahead and have lunch. Then take the afternoon off. Go do something. Go shopping. Anything you buy, send the bill to me. I'll see you tonight for dinner, alright?" The livery was down past the hotel so I could walk her back there safely.

"I'm sleepy," she stated. "I think what I want more than shopping is a nap."

"Good idea," I told her. "Make sure you're well-rested tonight."

She blushed slightly, then giggled. "Oh, something I need to be rested for?"

"Yes, ma'am. Well-rested."

We walked arm-in-arm until we reached Chez Natchez, and I escorted her into the lobby. She patted my hand, which was resting on top of my cane. "Don't get too tired using that," she instructed me, then kissed me on the cheek and headed for the dining room.

I walked back outside and down towards the livery. I'd only taken a few steps when Bret pulled up in the buggy. "Need a lift, fella?" he asked.

"I could stand one of those," I answered, and handed him my cane so I could use both hands to pull myself up.

"Where to?" Bret asked.

"Anywhere you want. You're the one that didn't want to talk in our suite."

Bret drove out of town on the western road, headed for the Mississippi River. In just a few minutes we were under a magnolia tree looking out over the water. I climbed down carefully; my knee had gotten quite a workout with all the walking this morning. Bret spread a blanket under the tree and we sat down, leaning against the trunk for support.

"Just like when we were kids," I said.

"I wish," came his answer. "How do you get into these things?"

"Into what, Bret? What is it you're not tellin' me?"

"Somebody at Belle Amour is smuggling opium into Natchez."


	17. Chasing the Dragon

Chapter 16 – Chasing the Dragon

"What?!" I must have heard him wrong. That's the only thing I could think of.

"Somebody at Belle Amour – "

"I heard you. I just don't believe it."

"There's an investigation goin' on. Believe it."

I needed more information than just a statement by my brother. Don't get me wrong, I believed what Bret had heard; I just wanted some proof of that particular activity actually going on. I'd seen nothing so far that pointed towards opium smuggling. But then again, I really hadn't seen much around Belle Amour, having spent most of my time there confined to bed from the accident. Did Oscar Wharton's weekly draw have anything to do with the smuggling? But if he was involved in it, wouldn't he have been receiving funds instead of paying them out? That might explain his murder. But using my gun? Why? What was all that about? And who might actually be involved? Herman? I couldn't imagine that. Lonnie? She seemed to care too much about the business and the girls to jeopardize them like that. One of the ladies themselves? That question I couldn't answer.

"Tell me exactly what you heard."

Bret pulled out two cigars and lit them, then passed one to me. He blew smoke out and started talking. "There's a joint investigation between the Federal marshals and the city police into the smuggling. So far there's been no substantial proof, nothing but suspicions, until Oscar Wharton's murder."

"With my derringer, by the way."

"WHAT? You didn't tell me that!"

I kind of chuckled. "I just found out this mornin'. That's why McCann wanted to see me. Somebody tried to set me up, by accident or design, I don't know." I looked at Bret while I let the next part sink in. "Domino provided the perfect alibi for me for last night."

"You mean because she – "

"Yep. Wharton was involved in it somehow. He was gettin' a weekly draw from Belle Amour."

Bret blew more smoke out. "Think he was payin' somebody off?"

"That's my guess. I was gonna go see him about it, but that's a little tough now." There were a lot of things running through my mind, one of which was my so-called 'accident.' "You think somebody tried to run me down – "

"Could be for a lotta reasons," Bret speculated.

"That's what worries me," I replied. "Do they think I knew and would stop it? Or want in on the cut? Or maybe they just wanted a patsy? Or was it just an accident?"

"I don't think it was an accident, Brother Bart. Why did the driver leave? And who picked up your gun?"

My turn to blow out the smoke. "Lots of good questions with no answers. What else do you know?"

"Doctor Jackson. His practice has been suffering the last year or so, ever since he got involved with Lonnie del Cantera. That's put a real financial strain on him."

"So it's well known about him and Lonnie?"

"Well known and widely disliked. Not only is she basically a madam, she's mulatto. That doesn't go over well with some of the gentry around here."

"No, I imagine it wouldn't. Anything about the liquor distributor?"

"Nothing more than normal. He's on somebody's payroll somewhere. Belle Amour was havin' increasin' trouble with his deliveries."

"Yeah, I nailed him to the wall for a new contract. He didn't give me too much trouble about it, either. I wonder if he's involved with the opium?"

"Haven't heard anything. That's about all I can tell you." Bret sat back, sure that I had nothing more to ask him. He was wrong.

"When I first told you about winnin' the parlor house . . . . . "

"Yeah?"

"You hit me. You've been real odd about Belle Amour. One minute hot, the next minute cold. What's the deal with you an brothels?" I'd finally gotten to ask the question, I just wasn't sure if I was gonna get an answer.

And then words came out of my brother's mouth that I never expected to hear.

"There was a girl . . . . . . a long time ago. Her name was Ruthie. And I killed her."

XXXXXXXX

Bret told me the whole story, and it explained a lot of things I'd never really understood before. The sadness that crept into his eyes sometimes. The hot and cold feelings he had towards parlor houses. The urgent need he seemed to have to rescue me, no matter how desperate the mess I'd gotten myself into. And after hearing everything I knew that I'd never look at my brother quite the same way again.

Before I could fully absorb everything he'd told me, we were interrupted by the very unexpected arrival of Lillian. She was quite a sight, riding that roan stallion in a hell of a hurry, hair blowing in the wind, yelling, "Mr. Maverick! Mr. Maverick!" I got up as fast as I could and was fully erect by the time Lillian got to us. "Bart! You gotta come quick. We got big trouble at Belle Amour!"

"What's wrong, Lillian?"

"Federal Marshal's just arrested Miss Lonnie and locked the doors to Belle. Charged her with opium smuggling. I just know it ain't true. Please come, Bart, and hurry!"

I looked at Bret. "Can you at least take me there?"

"Take you, hell. I'm goin' with you."

XXXXXXXX

When we got to Belle Amour there was a sidewalk full of ladies in black silk dresses; Herman, trying to keep everyone calm, and a padlock on the front door. "What happened?" I asked Herman.

"Marshal Fontana came with three deputies and arrested Lonnie and put a lock on the door. Didn't give us no reason for the padlock. Said somethin' about smuggling for Miss Lonnie. You gotta go get her out, Mr. Bart. The last time she got arrested they beat her somethin' awful."

I turned to my brother. "I need your help. Go around to the back door and unlock it. Here's the key. Get all the ladies inside and do whatever it takes to calm them all down. I'm takin' the buggy to the marshal's office."

Lillian stepped forward. "You ever been introduced to Fontana? You know where the marshal's office is?"

"No and no, Lillian."

"Then I'm goin' with you."

I wasn't gonna take the time to argue. "Alright, get in the buggy. I'll be back as soon as possible."

Bret and Herman were already taking the ladies around to the back when we left. Lillian took the buggy reins and whipped the horse into a frenzy and we went tearing down Washington Street like somebody'd set that poor horse's tail on fire. In less than five minutes we were at the marshal's office, nowhere near as fancy or well-constructed as Natchez Police Headquarters. It had been a day of revelations, and I wondered what was waiting for us inside. I had the feeling it wasn't going to be easy to get Lonnie del Cantera out of jail.


	18. A New Player

Chapter 17 – A New Player

It was chaos inside the marshal's office. I don't know if it was always like that, but this afternoon deputies were yelling, prisoners screaming, and two of the city's business leaders over in the corner arguing with each other. I finally found one deputy marshal that was involved in none of the above and told him I was there to see Marshal Fontana.

"Marshal don't see nobody without an appointment," he responded.

"The marshal just arrested my hostess and padlocked my business. He'd better see me." I was in no mood to be told to go away by a deputy.

"You that new fella owns Belle Amour?" he asked.

"That's right," I answered.

"Alright, wait a minute," he told me, and got up and went inside a closed door to the right, which I assumed to be the marshal's office.

Lillian whispered in my ear, "He's a new one," and I nodded. He was back out in a few minutes and gave me a strange look.

"You can go on in, but the whore's gotta stay out here."

"That's an assumption you've got no right to make," I smiled as I said it, and made sure to take Lillian into the office with me. There was only one chair in front of the desk, and I pulled it out for Lillian and stood next to her, leaning on my cane.

Marshal Fontana was young, about my age, but he already had that world-weary look to him. His hair was mostly blonde and curly, and he had a small mustache and piercing blue eyes. I couldn't tell how tall he was, but he was built slim like me. He wore a double-gun rig and a shoulder holster. The marshal certainly didn't lack for firepower.

He was reading something and raised his head when he finished. He seemed startled to see Lillian and stood up, reaching out to shake my hand. "Mr. Maverick, I'm Jenkins Fontana. I understand you're the new owner of Belle Amour?"

"That's right, Marshal. And I've come to find out why you arrested my hostess and padlocked my business."

"Your business, Mr. Maverick, is nothing more than a whorehouse."

"It's the finest, most respectable parlor house in Natchez. And the business is legal in this city."

A small smile creased his face. "Maybe I wanted to make sure you'd come to see me."

"If that's what it was, Marshal, you've accomplished your goal."

Fontana turned to Lillian. "Ma'am, I need to speak with Mr. Maverick. Alone. Could you please wait outside?"

I held her chair for her as Lillian stood up. "I'll be right back," I told the marshal and escorted Lillian out through the office and into the buggy. "Go on back, Lillian. It's close enough, I'll walk back."

"Are you sure, Bart?"

"Yes, ma'am. I'll be fine. You tell the ladies I'll be back soon."

She drove off and I went back inside, straight into Fontana's office. This time, I sat down. "Alright, Marshal, what's so important that you can't talk to me in front of my friend?"

"Your friend or your employee?"

"Both. Why did you arrest Lonnie del Cantera?"

"I have reason to believe that she's involved in illegal activity."

"What illegal activity?" I wanted to know what cards he had in his hand before I revealed mine.

"Opium smuggling."

"And how do I get bail for her?"

"She'll be arraigned tomorrow morning. Her attorney can request bail then."

"I'd like to see her." If Lonnie had been mistreated in the past, I was gonna do everything in my power to make sure it didn't happen again.

"That can be arranged." He got up from behind his desk and went to the door. "Matthews, take Mr. Maverick to see his employee. Come back here afterward, Mr. Maverick?"

"I will." I followed Matthews, a different deputy than the one that had insulted Lillian, back to the cells. Lonnie was sitting in the corner of one, all by herself. So far she looked untouched. She brightened considerably when she saw me and came to the front of the cell.

"I'm sorry about this," she told me.

"Why? You didn't do anything wrong, did you?"

"No," she answered, looking right into my eyes. I knew she wasn't involved in whatever was going on.

"You see the judge in the morning. I'll be there with an attorney. We'll get you out."

"Thanks. Belle Amour?"

"The ladies are fine. Bret and Herman are with them. My brother's got the key to the back door. Fontana wants to see me after I'm done here. Any idea what he wants?"

"Money, probably."

"Is that who Wharton was paying?"

She shook her head. "I don't know. Either him or McCann. Oscar wouldn't tell me."

"Have they hurt you, or threatened you in any way?" Just because she looked fine didn't mean she was.

"No, they've been by the book this time."

I grabbed one of her hands through the bars. "Do you need anything? Want anything? I'll get it for you."

"You're sweet, but no. I just need to get out of here."

I kissed the back of her hand before releasing it. "Tomorrow morning. I promise."

"Where did you come from?" She just looked at me with a question in her eyes.

"Texas," I told her and made her giggle. "Until tomorrow."

"Be careful," was the last thing she told me.

I was limping by the time I got back to Fontana's office. It had already been a long day and I'd done a lot more walking than normal, and the knee was bothering me some. Fontana looked up when I walked back in and watched me as I eased myself down into his chair. "Problems?" he asked.

"Too much walking," I answered.

"Was that caused by the buggy accident?"

I nodded. "If it was an accident."

"Just so you know, I've already sent a deputy over to take the lock off Belle Amour. The only motive I had in padlocking it was to make sure you came in to see me."

I laughed, a short, sharp sound. "You could have just asked."

"I did, Mr. Maverick. I sent several messages down asking you to come in at your convenience. I even sent a deputy down last week."

That surprised me. "I never got any of them. Who did the deputy talk to?"

"Don't remember the name. Light brown hair, green eyes."

"Frankie."

He snapped his fingers. "That's it. Frankie. She never told you, huh?"

"Nope. Why did you wanna see me?"

"I bet you can figure that out all by yourself."

"The smuggling, you mean? I just heard the rumors myself."

"They're not rumors."

I sat there for just a minute before I asked him a question. "There's a point to all this. What is it, Marshal? Do you seriously think Lonnie is involved?"

He gave a little chuckle. "See? I knew you could figure it out. No, Mr. Maverick, I don't believe that Lonnie del Cantera has anything to do with it. But somebody at Belle Amour does, and I thought maybe if I removed her, whoever it is would feel safe enough to slip up and make a mistake. Interested enough to help me?"

"How?"

"Let everybody think you believe Miss del Cantera is involved. Let's see if anybody crawls out of the woodwork."

"What about Lonnie?"

"The judge won't grant bail, if we have to go that far. I promise the very best care will be taken of her, but you can't tell her. Nobody can know. I have some suspicions, and I need time to find out if I'm right."

"Is Oscar Wharton's murder tied into all this?"

"Probably."

"Do you think he was involved in the smuggling?" The picture was growing clearer with every question I got answered.

"It looks that way. And he wanted out. That's why he's dead."

"I didn't kill him, you know."

A big, hearty laugh followed that statement. "I know. I've had a tail on you all week."

So much for my being observant. "Anything else?"

"Keep your eyes and ears open. And don't trust anybody. There's a killer out there someplace. I don't want any more bodies turning up."

We shook hands and I got up. I was sorry now that I'd sent Lillian back to Belle Amour with the buggy. I still didn't like the way the new deputy had talked about her, but I had a better opinion of Jenkins Fontana than I'd had when I walked in.

I got outside and was happy that the sun had gone behind some clouds. And even happier when I spotted my brother sitting across the street in the buggy, smoking a cigar. "Need a ride, son?" he asked when I got over to him.

"Even more than earlier," I answered. "How'd you know?"

"Too much walkin'," he told me. "Even my knees hurt, and I wasn't run over by a horse."

"And buggy," I reminded him.

"Where to?"

"The hotel, to pick up Domino. Then Belle Amour. I need to run somethin' past you."

"Am I gonna wanna hear this?"

"When have you ever wanted to hear anything I had to tell you?"

"I was about six the last time that happened."


	19. And For My Next Trick

Chapter 18 – And for My Next Trick

The padlock was indeed off the front door and the ladies had all settled down when the three of us got back. I laid the story out for them, and there was a lot of grumbling and groaning, and more than one person protested that Lonnie wasn't involved in anything as heinous as opium smuggling. I kept a close eye on Frankie, but she never acted any differently than anyone else. I let Domino continue to think that I believed Lonnie guilty. She kept telling me I was wrong, that Lonnie wasn't that kind of person.

There was a liquor shipment due tomorrow, with some French champagne included, and I wanted to see what actually got delivered. By this time my knee was really bothering me and all I wanted to do was go back to the hotel and take the weight off of it. I sent Dominique to an attorney's office to engage a lawyer's services for court tomorrow, and I did a lot of fast talking and convinced Bret to stay at Bell Amour for the evening. I had one last thing I needed to do before leaving, and that was talking to Herman.

We met in Lonnie's office, and I asked him to keep his eyes open and watch for anything unusual, and to keep track of which gentlemen came to visit that night. Bret and Lillian were going to keep track of the same thing, so there was little chance someone could slip in unnoticed.

I didn't want to walk back to the hotel but I really didn't want Bret to leave Belle Amour, so Dominique and I walked slowly. "Do you mind if we just eat at the hotel tonight?" I asked her on the way back.

"Your knee bothering you?"

"Was it the grimace that gave me away?"

"That and the limp. Let's get you back to the suite so you can get off your feet. I can go down to get us food."

"Sounds like a good idea. I could stand to take my boots off and put my feet up."

And once we got back to the hotel that's just what I did. The knee was a little swollen, and it was obvious I'd spent too much time walking. Just a few minutes after Dominique went downstairs to get us some food, somebody knocked on the door. "Dang it," I muttered under my breath. "I'm comin'," I said out loud.

I opened the door to find Chief McCann. "Come in, Chief," I told him, and once that was accomplished I limped back to the settee.

"Where's Mrs. Hawkins?" he asked.

"Went down to order supper. What can I do for you?"

"I heard that Fontana arrested Lonnie del Cantera. How do you feel about that?"

"How should I feel?"

"She's not involved in it."

Now I was curious. "Involved in what, McCann?"

"In the smuggling operation." He fidgeted around for a minute, then asked, "Do you mind if I smoke in here?"

"No, go ahead. How do you know she's not involved?"

"Because I know who is, and it's not her."

I'll give him one thing, Chief Hollister McCann must have been a real fine poker player, because his face gave nothing at all away. "And how do you know who it is, Chief?"

Before McCann could say anything else, Dominique was back with supper. "That didn't take long," I told her.

McCann got up and went to the door. "What I have to discuss with you can wait, Mr. Maverick. Mrs. Hawkins," and he tipped his hat to her and was gone.

"That was the strangest visit," I told Domino, as she set up our food.

"What did he want?" she asked me.

"I don't know."

"Forget the chief. Let's eat while the food's hot."

"Good idea."

XXXXXXXX

The night I'd been planning since this morning never came to pass, as I fell asleep with my head in Domino's lap not long after we ate. It wasn't difficult to do; she insisted I lay down and started massaging my temples. That gets me every time. I vaguely remember getting up with her help and going to bed, and I turned over sometime during the night and found her in my arms. It was a thoroughly pleasant situation, and I was glad that she was there. I went right back to sleep and had no disturbing dreams.

I woke with the sun streaming through the windows, and made up for my inattention to Domino last night. God, her skin was so soft, and her lips so tender. I couldn't begin to imagine how a man could just get up and leave a woman like this, especially when he was married to her. Things had just started to get interesting when there was knock on my door. I looked up from Domino and yelled, "Go away, Bret!"

Just as I thought he'd heard me, the knocking started again. "Go away, big brother!"

"I can't, Bart. Assistant Chief of Police Edwards is here to see you."

"Dang," I mumbled, and pulled away from Domino. It took a few minutes to get presentable and then I limped out to the sitting room. The knee felt a little better, but it was still bothering me.

Edwards was as unimpressive as McCann was imposing. A smallish, almost bald man, Edwards looked somewhere between worried sick and terrified out of his mind. "What can I do for you, Mr. Edwards?"

"Mr. Maverick, was Chief McCann by here last night? To see you, I mean."

"Yes, but he was only here for a few minutes."

"When was that, sir?" Edwards look had changed to one of panic.

"About seven o'clock," I told him.

"And were you the only one here, sir?"

"No, Edwards, my assistant Mrs. Hawkins was here when the Chief left."

"Aha. I see. Thank you for your time, Mr. Maverick. Sorry to have gotten you up."

"Wait, Edwards, what's going on? Where is Chief McCann?"

"That's what I'm trying to determine, Mr. Maverick. Chief McCann hasn't been seen since he left headquarters for your hotel last night."

XXXXXXXX

Edwards was gone and Bret and I were in the dining room having coffee. Dominique was upstairs asleep. No one knew where Hollister McCann was.

I explained the chief's strange visit to Bret and he was as perplexed as I was. "Why do you suppose he was even there?" I asked.

"Obviously to tell you something he didn't want to say in front of Dominique. The question becomes, what?"

"He said he knew who was involved in the smuggling, but he didn't tell me who it was. That's when Domino came back with supper."

"Is she close with anybody at Belle Amour?"

It was a good question, but my answer was no help. "I don't think she knows anybody well but Lonnie."

"How's the knee this morning?"

"Sore," I answered, "why?"

"Can you walk down to Belle Amour or do you want me to get a buggy?"

"I can walk, just not fast."

"Good. Let's go see who the clientele was last night."

"I don't have long. Lonnie's arraignment is at ten o'clock this morning."

"I'll have you at the courthouse by then. Ready?"

"Sure."

And we set off for the parlor house. I don't know what Bret was thinking, but I was hoping that last night's visitors would provide some clue as to what was going on. Because, quite frankly, I had no idea. And I didn't like the thought of keeping Lonnie in jail any longer than absolutely necessary.


	20. The Lists

Chapter 19 –The Lists

Bret went to get the list from Lillian that the two of them had compiled while I went to see Herman. The big man was none too happy that Miss Lonnie was still in jail, but I assured him I'd hired an attorney for her and would be in court this morning to pay her bail.

"Did you keep a list for me last night, Herman?" I asked him, and he looked down at the floor while answering me.

"Uh, no, Mr. Bart, but I got it all in my head. I know who was here." It dawned on me slowly that I'd just assumed Herman could read and write. Turns out that was the wrong assumption. Herman could do neither. But he was correct, he had every one of last night's visitors in his head.

"Ok, you tell me who was here and I'll write it down," I offered, and my chief of security was more than eager to help.

"Let's see, the first one here last night was Judge Vincent. He's one a miss Lillian's gentlemen. Then there was two of Jack's regulars - not at the same time – Keith Wolcott and Andy Dunn. Doctor Jackson was here, he said to see Miss Lonnie, but I saw him talkin' to Rosalie before he left. Fred and Bennie came in, they're dealers down at Ronnie's, and they come in to see Laura and Frankie. Cornelia was a busy lady, she had three gentlemen. Two city councilmen – George Rooney and Franklin Saunders, and Judge Mooney from municipal court. Bout ten o'clock Hollister McCann was here. He didn't see none a the ladies, just sat at the bar and drank for an hour or so. Marguerite claimed to be sick and stayed up in her room.

"Oh yeah, and there was actually a poker game last night in the saloon. Your brother was playing with Wolcott, Rooney, and that kid from around the corner – the one that works for the liquor distributor – his names Bobby or Buddy, last name's Smith. And my friend McGinty was here till about two in the mornin'. That was it, Mr. Bart. Kinda a quiet night for the Belle."

"Whew," I shook my head. "That's some memory you've got there, Herman."

"Comes in handy sometimes, since I can't, y'know, read an write. Is that good enough? Will that help you any?"

"That's good, Herman. Tell me about McCann. Did he come in alone? Drink alone? Talk to anybody while he was here? Do anything out of the ordinary?"

"No, not really. He came in by himself, ordered a drink from Jack, just sat there for a while and drank it, then he got another and tossed it back pretty quick. Him and the Doc had a few words as he was leavin', but that was about it."

"Doctor Jackson was still here when McCann was?"

Herman's head nodded. "Oh, yeah. Say, Doc left just a few minutes after Chief McCann left. Said he had a patient to go check on, told me he was comin' back. But he didn't. And Cornelia left for a while between Rooney and Saunders. Her boy's been sick and she went across town to check on him. That's about all the comin's an goin's last night, boss."

I looked at the list I had. So McCann had been here around ten and left after he and Doctor Jackson had a few words. Then Jackson left soon after. At least I knew the Chief was still alive around eleven o'clock. Did the Doctor follow him out, or was the timing just coincidence? I went to look for Bret and found him in the saloon, drinking coffee and talking to Bonnie.

"I've got to go," I told him. "You got your list?"

"Yeah, and some information not on here. From Bonnie."

"You goin' with me?"

"Yeah. Come on, we can walk and talk."

The municipal court was south of Belle Amour, about two-thirds of a mile. We'd already decided that Bret would get me to court and then go back to the livery for a buggy – too much walking was getting to me again. I was met on the courthouse steps by Domino and a distinguished looking gentleman, introduced to me as Winston Sharp, attorney at law.

"Where did you go this morning?" Domino asked me in a whisper.

"Bret and I had some business to take care of. I didn't want to wake you. Everything alright?"

"It will be when we get Lonnie out of jail," she answered. We walked into the courthouse and into the judge's chambers, Attorney Sharp and me. Dominique had to wait outside. Marshal Fontana came in through a side door with Lonnie, who looked better than she had yesterday afternoon. She was charged with drug smuggling and Sharp asked for bail, and the Marshal looked at me. I nodded, hoping that I'd gotten enough information to keep Fontana happy, and he raised no objection to bail. The judge set bail at five hundred dollars, stipulating that Lonnie was granted bail only on the condition that she not return to Belle Amour. Sharp made arrangements for me to pay the bail; then Lonnie would be turned over to me. Before we left the judge's chambers, Fontana pulled me aside.

"What did you find out?"

"I've still got some things to check on. Has McCann been found yet?"

The Marshal shook his head. "You know what that probably means. Be careful."

"You too. I'll come back to your office this afternoon. Meanwhile, I'm keepin' Lonnie at my suite, so you know where she is."

"Good. Just don't let her go back to Belle Amour. Not yet."

"By the way, keep an eye on Doctor Jackson. Don't let him go anywhere out of town."

"Don't worry. He's bein' watched."

"Instead of me?"

Fontana grinned. "See, I knew you were a smart man."

"Thanks, I think."

I left the judge's chambers and gathered up Domino. "Well?"

I nodded and smiled. "We're goin' to pay her bail now. She's goin' back to the suite with you. We'll get her some clothes later. Don't let her go back to Belle Amour. And don't let her get in touch with the Doctor."

She looked at me questioningly but nodded. "Alright. When will you be back?"

"Later today." I kissed her on the cheek before we stepped up to the clerk's desk and took care of the matter at hand. Fontana brought Lonnie out once I'd paid the bail, and the first thing she did was throw her arms around me.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you." Domino cleared her throat and Lonnie looked at her, then at me, then back to Domino again. "Oh, sorry," she said quickly, and I almost laughed. I swear, women have a shorthand that only they understand. I ushered them both outside and Bret was there with a carriage big enough for all of us.

"To the Chez Natchez, driver," I laughed, and Bret shot me a look as we started. I turned to Lonnie to explain what I could. "I need you to stay in the suite. You heard the judge, you can't go back to Belle Amour. And I've got one more thing to ask of you."

"Anything," she told me.

"You can't see Dr. Jackson for now."

"What? Why?"

How much to tell her? I decided in a split second, as little as possible. So I invented a story. "He's a witness in a case that Marshal Fontana's workin' on. Until we get you cleared of these charges, it could damage his credibility if you two got together. I had to agree to that to get the Marshal to okay lettin' you out on bail."

"I don't understand it, but okay. You got me out, I'm not going to jeopardize my freedom."

Once we got the ladies back to the hotel, Bret looked at me. "The river?" he asked.

"The river," I agreed.


	21. In Too Deep

Chapter 20 – In Too Deep

Once we got out to the river, we compared lists. Bret and Lillian had missed the time that Cornelia was gone to check on her son and the visit by Herman's friend McGinty – but other than that the lists were the same. I was beginning to get a clearer picture of what might be going on. Especially after what Bonnie shared with Brother Bret.

He told me everything that he'd heard from Bonnie and some of the pieces fell into place, including the reason for Dr. Jackson's involvement. We both still had questions and no answers, and I explained Lonnie's arrest and Marshal Fontana's interest. Then I disclosed to him my own part in this ever-deepening mystery.

"Could the accident have been part of this?" Bret asked.

"I've wondered that myself. I just don't see how it could be tied up in the whole thing. And I think my derringer disappearin' was just a happy accident for whoever killed Wharton. I'm supposed to go meet Fontana. Go with me."

Bret sighed. "Somehow I knew I'd end up in this mess. Why do I let you drag me into these things?"

"You don't have to. You can go back to the hotel and babysit Domino and Lonnie."

He looked like he was considering it for about ten seconds. "Naw, I think I'll stick with you."

"Then let's go visit the marshal."

The meeting wasn't going to happen this day, however. The marshal's office was more chaotic than it had been the previous day and it didn't take long to find out why – Hollister McCann's body had been found in an abandoned barn near the river – with his throat cut. Fontana wasn't in the office, but he'd left a message for me in the form of a note. It read _'Maverick – Go back to your hotel and stay there until you hear from me. Jenkins Fontana'_

"Might not be a bad idea, for a while," I told Bret.

"Mmmhmm. This is one time I like the idea of takin' a lawman's advice."

And back to the hotel we went.

XXXXXXXX

When we got back Bret went to bed to get some sleep, and Dominique was doing something with her clothes in our room, so Lonnie and I sat down to talk. "What's going on, Bart? There's something you're not telling me, isn't there?"

I nodded, knowing that I could tell Lonnie some, but not all, of the goings on. "Hollister McCann is dead, Lonnie."

"Hollister – how?"

"Somebody slit his throat."

"I'm not surprised. He could be . . . . . . tough."

"He mightta been tough, but he was fair. He told me you were innocent."

She looked surprised. "He did?"

"Yep. In this very room."

"When?"

"Last night."

"He was here last night?" Now she sounded surprised.

"Yep."

"What else did he want?"

I shrugged my shoulders. "I don't know. He was at the Belle drinkin' about ten o'clock."

"That sounds right. He worked most nights until nine o'clock or so, then stopped by Belle for a drink before he went home."

"He was more than just a casual acquaintance?"

She was calm, but her hands were fidgety. "At one time, yes."

"How long ago?"

Lonnie gave a little laugh, but I noticed her eyes glistening. "A long time ago. When I . . . . . when I shot Francoise del Cantera."

"He helped you through that?"

"He saved me from being hung."

That was an interesting bit of information that I wasn't in possession of. Lonnie was full of mystery and secrets. But I guess we all are.

Dominique came out of the bedroom, holding up a pretty, crisp pink dress. "I think this will fit you, Lonnie, if you'd like to change clothes." Lonnie was still wearing the black silk dress she'd had on two days ago.

"Thank you, Dominique. I think it will, too. Excuse me," and they traded places, Domino coming to sit with me on the settee. It didn't take much persuasion for me to put my arm around her.

"You don't still think she's involved in all this, do you?" she asked me when comfortably seated next to me.

"I never did," came my quick answer.

"But you said – "

"I know," I interrupted. "There was a reason I did that, but I didn't believe it."

She thought for just a moment. "Hollister McCann and Jenkins Fontana."

"More or less."

"There's more going on than you're willing to talk about, isn't there?"

Neither one of these ladies was slow, that's for certain. "More than I can talk about, Domino."

Lonnie came back out and looked much softer and prettier in the pink dress. It fit almost perfectly. "Thanks, Dominique. I get real tired of black."

"Who started that, Lonnie?" I asked her.

"Oscar. He wanted something to set us apart from the other houses. He called us 'Black Silk Ladies.' We got used to it."

"You can change it if you want to."

"Maybe, somewhere down the line. Not just now."

There was a knock on the door and I got up, gun drawn, to answer it. "Who is it?" I asked when I got to the entryway.

"Fontana."

I opened the door before I holstered my gun. Marshal Fontana came in and tipped his hat, then explained, "Ladies, I need to see Mr. Maverick, alone." Domino and Lonnie went into my room and shut the door. "Your brother?" the marshal asked.

"Asleep."

"You know McCann's dead?"

I nodded. "Any leads?"

"Not so far. What'd you find out?"

I gave him all the information I had, including the two lists, and then told him the conclusions Bret and I had come to.

He nodded his head before adding, "I think you're right. The only question becomes, who's doing the killing?"

"That I can't answer – yet. Belle Amour is supposed to have a champagne delivery today. I wanna go down and see what actually appears. Maybe that'll help us."

"Watch your back. Until we know the last piece of this puzzle – "

"You too. I want this cleared up." What I didn't say was "so I can sell the place."

The marshal left and I opened the bedroom door. "Alright, ladies, I have to go to Belle Amour."

Domino spoke up. "I'm going with you."

There was no sense arguing with her. I sighed and said "Alright."

"Lonnie, wake Bret about five o'clock. Tell him to meet me at the parlor house."

She nodded and I grabbed my hat and cane. I'd be happy when I didn't have to take that thing with me anymore. "Let's go, Mrs. Hawkins." And out the door we went.


	22. Farewell, My Friend

Chapter 21 – Farewell, My Friend

"There was a delivery," Suzanne told me. "And we were a bottle short. Buddy said he'd taken it straight to Doctor Jackson, per Frank's orders." Frank was the liquor distributor.

"When was that, Suzanne?" I asked her.

"About two hours ago. Right after lunch."

I turned to Dominique. "I want you to stay here until I come back."

"Where are you going?"

"To see the good doctor," I replied. "He's got some explainin' to do."

Jackson's office was on the other side of Natchez. I actually went to the livery and saddled a very temperamental buckskin gelding, who didn't know whether to be upset with me for ignoring him or happy to see me. He could tell I wasn't quite right yet by the way I mounted him but once I was up there it felt pretty good. It was nice to be on the old man and not inside a buggy.

A ten minute trip to Lewis Jackson's office on the west side of the city. I got down even more carefully than I'd mounted but the kneecap held firm and steady, and so did Noble. There were no lights on in the front office, but I tried the door anyway and found it unlocked. Somebody was being careless.

The first door I went to was locked, the second door opened and let me into an exam room that was empty. I could hear voices coming from the far side of the room; there was another door back there and I walked across the floor as quietly as I could, with my gun drawn and ready. I opened the door just a crack and saw Rosalie sitting in a chair, smoking what smelled like opium. I could hear the doctor's voice but couldn't see him. I couldn't distinguish what he was saying, but the tone of his voice was soothing; somehow comforting. I closed the door and made my way back out of the office and onto the street. I left Noble tied there and walked over to a small café, went inside and took a seat by the window. A cup of coffee was gone by the time I saw Rosalie leave the doctor's, and the front office was once again lit.

Back across the street I went, and this time when I walked inside Doctor Jackson was out front. "Mr. Maverick, good to see you. How's the knee?" He had no idea that I'd been in just a few minutes ago.

"Doc, I believe there's something we need to talk about."

"Oh? What's that?"

"Rosalie and opium."

He stood there for a moment, not sure what it was I wanted from him. Then he sighed and said sadly, "Come into my office."

I followed him into a tiny room, just big enough for a small desk and a chair in front of it. "Sit down, please." I did, and waited to see if the doctor had anything to say. "How much do you know?"

"I know that Belle Amour's liquor distributor is smuggling opium in for you and labeling it as French champagne. I know that you're supplying it to Rosalie and who knows how many others for an unknown reason. And I know that Oscar Wharton and Hollister McCann are dead because of it."

"Hollister's dead? When? How?" The look on his face was genuine shock. "I just spoke to him – "

"Last night. I know. Somebody slit his throat after he left Belle Amour. How well did you know McCann?"

The doctor looked like he might be sick to his stomach. "Well enough. I know he was on Oscar Wharton's payroll until Oscar lost the Belle."

"Let's talk about you and Rosalie. Why are you supplying opium to her? I thought you and Lonnie . . . . "

He exhaled and appeared sorrowful. "I love Lonnie. Whether anyone likes it or not. Rosalie . . . . is different. She wanted help . . . . needed help. Rosalie was beaten by a client several years ago. She almost died, and morphine was the only thing that got her through it. Do you know anything about morphine, Mr. Maverick?"

"Not a lot, Doc." I knew it was used extensively during the Civil War. Not much beyond that.

"It's very effective in severe cases. And very addictive. We've been testing a new therapy with Rosalie, to try and keep her off the morphine. Smoking opium instead. It's been working, but slowly. She can't get it any other way. And she's the only one I'm treating, I swear."

"Does Lonnie know about this?" I had to ask.

Jackson looked down at the floor, suddenly ashamed. "No."

"You know she was arrested and charged with smuggling?"

"Yes."

"What were you gonna do? Nothin'?"

"I wouldn't let Lonnie go to jail."

I looked across the desk at him and kinda laughed. "You already did."

"I . . . . . . I know."

"What did you an McCann talk about last night?"

"Hollister told me he knew I was the one getting the opium. He wanted money to keep quiet about it. I didn't have any."

"Who did you tell, Lewis? Who'd you talk to?"

"I gave Herman a note."

"Herman? He can't read." Was Herman involved in this after all? I found that hard to believe.

"I asked him to give it to McGinty, his friend. Pat McGinty works for Frank."

That I didn't know. I'd never seen or heard of McGinty before this morning, but I knew Frank was the liquor distributor. Was he the one behind all the trouble? The more credence I gave to it, the more likely it seemed. But the question still remained of who was responsible for the two murders. And my 'accident.'

"What do you want from all of this, Maverick? I'll tell you just what I told Hollister – I have no money to pay you off."

"I don't want a payoff, Doc. I want Lonnie's name cleared, and I want the murders to stop. And Rosalie. I want her to be well."

"I'm working on that, if you'll let me continue. As for Lonnie – can Fontana be trusted?"

I nodded. "Marshal Fontana's on the up-an-up. He's the only one I'm sure of, though. How often do you see Rosalie?"

"It was every day. We changed that last week to every other day, and it seems to be working, so far."

"Good. Keep workin' with her. Fontana doesn't need to know who it is you're treatin'; not yet, at least. I'm headed back to Belle Amour to talk to Herman about McGinty. Lonnie's at the Chez Natchez, in the Maverick suite, by the way. If you wanna go see her. Don't tell her any more than you have to."

Doctor Jackson blinked a couple times, as if he was deciding whether to trust me or not. Then I could see the decision made, and he actually smiled and extended a hand to me. "Thanks, Bart. I won't forget what you've done for Lonnie. And me." We shook hands, and I started to leave, then turned back around.

"Don't forget to lock your front door, Doc."

XXXXXXXX

Belle Amour was quiet, almost as if everyone was sleeping, as I tied Noble out front and walked inside. Frankie was behind the bar in the saloon and I sat down and had her pour me a cup of coffee. We talked about nothing important for a few minutes and then I asked her, "Wasn't there something you were supposed to tell me?"

"You mean about Jenkins Fontana coming by to see you? Lillian was here, and she promised to tell you. Did she forget?"

That was a good question. Had she forgotten, or was the omission deliberate? I had to consider the possibility. Much as I liked Lillian, that didn't automatically clear her of being involved in this whole scheme. I was getting ready to go look for her when Bret wandered in.

"Get enough sleep?"

He looked at me and laughed. "When do we ever get enough sleep?"

The front bell rang, and I sent Frankie to answer it. That gave me the opportunity to fill Bret in on both of my conversations, with the marshal and the doctor. He listened to me tell him about Lillian and agreed it should be investigated. "What do you wanna do about the doctor?"

"Nothin' for now," I told him. "If that's all true, I'd like to see Rosalie get treated. She's been through enough."

"Everybody's been through enough, Bart. And I'd like you to stay alive, just in case what happened wasn't an accident."

"What's our next move?" I asked, but before I could get an answer there was a loud scream upstairs, and we both took off running. Actually, Bret ran and I limped. I was still moving slow.

By the time I got upstairs Bret was already pushing everyone back from a door. Lillian's door. "Where's Herman?" he asked.

"Back here," came Herman's voice as he got to the top of the stairs.

"Go get Marshal Fontana," Bret told him. "Lillian's dead."


	23. Tied Up With a Bow

Chapter 22 – Tied Up With a Bow

Suzette found her when she went to Lillian's room to borrow a brooch. She thought at first Lillian was napping, as she often did in the early evening, and it took a few minutes to realize that wasn't the case. It was Suzette that screamed and fled the room, practically running Bret down as he charged up the stairs. Laura took Suzette back to her room and stayed with her while everyone else shook their heads and cried. Herman hung the 'Closed' sign on the door when he returned with the marshal.

She'd been shot twice in the head with a derringer .41 caliber, and the gun was lying on the floor. Bret picked up the derringer and pocketed it, and before I could ask why Fontana was there asking his own questions. He had the ladies go to their rooms and then took Herman downstairs to begin the investigation.

As soon as he was out of earshot I turned back to Bret and mouthed one word. "Why?" Bret closed the door; only us and Lillian's body, and pulled the gun out of his pocket. With just a glance I knew why he'd picked it up. It was my Remington derringer. He hastily put the gun in his inside coat pocket and I yanked the door open. For the second time, somebody was trying to frame me for murder.

It didn't take either of us long to figure it out. McCann must have brought the derringer with him last night with the intention of returning it to me; because of his hasty departure from the suite that hadn't happened. Whoever killed him pocketed the gun and used it again to kill Lillian. Then the question became why? Why kill Wharton, McCann, and Lillian? What was the connection? And why use my gun again? Unless the killer didn't know I had an alibi for the time of Wharton's murder.

Fontana appeared at the door and Bret and I both backed out of the room. There was no sign of a struggle, so Lillian must have known whoever it was that killed her. I'd lost Sally Bodeen all over again.

Finally two more deputies arrived, and Bret and I were ushered downstairs into Lonnie's office and the door was closed. We sat there for almost twenty minutes and bounced theories off each other before Marshal Fontana came in. He sat down across from us and removed his hat, dropping it on the table and running his hand through his hair. Then he took a long look at me. "Does trouble always follow you around like this?"

"Sometimes," I answered. "You know we were downstairs when Suzette found the body?"

"Yup," he replied. "Deputy Chester is trying to question her now, if he can get her to stop crying long enough to talk. Looks like Lillian knew whoever it was that killed her. She hadn't seen anybody today as far as any of the girls knew. That doesn't leave us with too many people that could have gotten in here without being noticed. You get any leads?"

"Yeah. Sort of. The opium's being used for medicinal purposes. Sort of."

Fontana scratched his head. "Uh, in English, please?"

"The opium is treating somebody's morphine addiction."

"Whose addiction? Who's using it?"

"I can't tell you any more. Not yet. I need more time."

"I've got another murder on my hands, Maverick."

"I know, Marshal. She was my friend, remember?"

"So it's Jackson gettin' the opium to treat one a the girls." I didn't say anything. Finally, in a more subdued tone of voice, he asked, "Lonnie didn't know about it, did she?"

Suddenly a light went on in my brain. "You're in love with her, too, aren't you?"

Bret laughed discreetly. "Everybody seems to be."

"Does that include you, too?" the marshal asked petulantly.

That was an easy answer for me. "Nope."

Bret chimed in with, "Me either."

The marshal exhaled and sat there studying us. "How much longer?"

"Forty-eight hours."

He shook his head. "Twenty-four. If you can't give me someone to arrest, I'll have to find somebody myself."

The implication was clear. Find out who was behind all of this, or Fontana would find somebody to blame. And I didn't like the way he was looking at me.

XXXXXXXX

Dominique was there as soon as Fontana opened the door. "Are you alright?"

"Sure, I'm fine. Lillian, not so much."

"Lonnie. We have to tell Lonnie."

Lonnie. I hadn't thought about Lonnie. If by some slim chance Doctor Jackson was the murderer, I'd given him an engraved invitation to kill Lonnie. I might as well have handed him the keys to the suite and the gun to do it with. I turned to Bret and Domino. "Bret, take her back to the hotel. I've gotta go now."

I cleared out of Belle Amour as fast as I could and scrambled up on Noble. In just a couple minutes we were at the Chez Natchez and I was doing my best to climb the stairs to our room. There was nobody in the sitting room and my heart was pounding as I flung open the door to my bedroom, half expecting to find another body. I did, in a manner of speaking, but it was simply Lonnie sleeping.

I made enough noise that she woke and sat up immediately. "You're alright," I blurted out.

"Well, yes," she responded sleepily. Then she took a good look at me and asked, "What's wrong? What happened?"

"Has Doctor Jackson been here?"

"Tonight?"

"Yes, tonight. I told him where you were."

"No, I haven't seen Lewis. Why?"

I sat down on the bed and took her hands in mine. "Something's happened at Belle Amour, Lonnie."

"What?"

"Lillian's been murdered."

"What? Lillian? No, not Lillian. Please, not Lillian. She was . . . . . she was . . . . . oh, not Lillian."

She was in my arms, sobbing quietly, and all I could do was hold her and let her cry. I heard the door to the suite and knew that Bret and Domino were there, and in a moment Domino was in the room and doing her best to comfort Lonnie. I got up and left, hoping that she would be more effective than I'd been.

Bret was waiting for me. "Why the rush?"

"Jackson knew where she was. If he's the killer . . . . . . . ."

"Do you think he is?" Bret asked in all seriousness.

I shook my head. "No, but I didn't like taking a chance. We've got more work to do. There's two people in all of this that we haven't heard anything from."

"And that would be?"

"Frank and McGinty."

"I thought you negotiated a new deal with Frank."

"That's what bothers me. He just acquiesced when I told him what I wanted."

Bret looked perplexed. "So?"

"Why didn't he argue with me? Try to negotiate something more in his favor? Unless somebody else is pulling his strings."

"Ok, who would that be? Any ideas?"

"I think we better go find out." Bret nodded and I went to tell the ladies. Lonnie wasn't crying anymore, but she had lain back down and Dominique was sitting with her. I motioned 'come on out' with my head and Domino followed me. "We have to go somewhere. Don't answer the door and keep it locked. Can you shoot a handgun?"

"Yes."

"Then take this, and shoot anybody that tries to come in." I handed her my Colt after making sure it was loaded. Then I kissed her. Just in case.

XXXXXXXX

Frank's warehouse was locked up and there were no signs of life anywhere. "What now?" Bret asked.

"McGinty. Let's go see if Herman knows where he is. At least we can find out what he looks like."

Once again we went back to Belle Amour. The 'Closed' sign was still on the door, so we walked around back and I used my key. Everyone but Suzette was in the saloon, and at this point of this particular day everyone had a shot glass in front of them. Even Herman. Most of the glasses were empty, but as we walked back in the pouring began anew. Bonnie had joined the nighttime ladies and was doing the pouring, and she brought a glass to me and one to Bret. We didn't refuse them, and when all the glasses were full, Herman raised his in the toast. "To Lillian, a lady if there ever was one."

"To Lillian," I murmured, and downed the shot. Once again I thought of Sally Bodeen, and grieved the loss of both ladies that had graced my life.

Bret watched me and guessed at the fact that there was more at play here than just Lillian. His eyes asked the question and I quietly told him, "Dodge City." He nodded, having heard the stories I told him about Sally, and drained his glass, too. Then we sat down with Herman.

"I know," Herman started. "I let Miss Lillian down. I'll clear out my things."

I shook my head. "No, Herman, the ladies need you. I don't want you to leave, and neither do they. It wasn't your fault."

"I should have known there was somebody here that didn't belong."

"That's just it, Herman," Bret told him. "Maybe you thought they belonged here. Tell us what you can about McGinty."

"Pat?" Herman asked. "What do ya wanna know?"

"Description, for starters," I replied.

"Okay." He turned to Bret. "He's about your height, a little heavier. Brown hair. Got a scar across the back of his right hand."

"Knife wound?" I asked.

"Yeah, that's what it looks like."

"Know where he lives?" Bret asked next.

"Got a room at a boardin' house down on Phillips Street. 3C. Rides a pretty little paint mare. Why you lookin' for McGinty?"

I covered as quick as I could. "We wanna talk to him about Frank."

"What about Frank? Pat's told me a lot."

"That his warehouse where the deliveries come from?"

"Naw," Herman told us. "Warehouse belongs to Judge Vincent."

"Vincent," Bret repeated. "Where have I heard that name before?"

"He's . . . . . he was one a Miss Lillian's gentlemen."

I'm sure Bret was thinking the same thing. Judge Vincent . . . . . Frank . . . . . McGinty . . . . . Lillian. Oscar Wharton, who wanted out. And Hollister McCann, pretending to be a cop on the take, trying to find out who was behind it all. That would tie it up in a neat little package, wouldn't it? We needed to have a talk with the Judge.


	24. Partners

Chapter 23 – Partners

Judge Harvey Vincent lived in the 'gentrified' part of Natchez, of course. Long a widower, he was highly respected in his social circles. Of course there were reports of the judge's financial worth, but from the looks of his home he had a lot more money than he was given credit for. I was anxious to see what we could discover from Judge Vincent, and I was willing to use the premise of Lillian's death to call on him.

I only had twenty-four hours to finish unraveling this mystery, and I had every intention of doing so. No matter what it took. After much discussion on the way to the house I finally persuaded Bret to play along with me, whichever road I ended up traveling down.

The judge had a houseboy, and he reminded me of Hagen, Declan Savoy's trusted employee. For just a moment my mind took a small detour in the direction of Reno, and I wondered if Declan and Jenny had gotten married yet. Surely they must have by this time, and I was yanked back into the present by Bret's hand on my elbow, more or less guiding me through the front door. We were shown into a lavish office, filled with heavy mahogany furniture and enough books to keep me happy for the rest of my life. I took a seat in front of the expansive desk and Bret paced in circles, as was his habit.

It didn't take long for the judge to enter the office, and I stood up as he did so. He wore what appeared to be a black velvet smoking jacket and a white silk cravat, and looked every inch the successful capitalist. "Judge Vincent, I'm – "

He reached out a hand. "Yes, I know, Mr. Maverick. The new owner of Belle Amour. Lillian told me all about you. Bart, is it? Please call me Harvey. And this would be your brother, Bret?" The judge reached out to shake Bret's hand.

"Would either of you gentlemen like a brandy?" the judge offered.

"No thank you, sir, neither of us drinks. Please don't let that stop you." I waited while he poured himself a glass of brandy from the bottle that sat on his desk. "I'm afraid we've come to deliver some disturbing news, Harvey."

"And what is that, Bart?" he asked nonchalantly.

I waited until he'd taken a sip of the brandy and set the glass back down on the desktop. "I'm sorry to tell you that Lillian Grady is dead."

"Lillian's dead, eh? I'm sorry to hear that. I've known Lillian for many years, and I certainly shall miss her. That's rather sudden, isn't it?"

"Yes it was, Harvey. We found her this afternoon. She was shot twice in the head, I'm afraid," Bret informed him, with a real note of regret in his voice.

Harvey blinked but never let his composure slip. "Well, that is a real shame. Any idea who did it? Was it robbery, I suppose?"

I shook my head and leaned forward. "No, Harvey, there was no sign of robbery. It was plain, all-out murder, I'm afraid."

The judge poured himself another brandy. "Why? Who would want to murder Lillian?"

"I don't know. Why did you have her killed? And who did it, McGinty?"

"What? What are you accusing me of? And who's McGinty?" He sipped his brandy slowly and watched me. Waiting to see what my next move was.

I sat back in my chair. Bret was patiently observing to see where I led us. "I'm sorry, you probably don't know McGinty personally, do you? He works for Frank, after all. Maybe you didn't even know Frank had ordered the murder. Why, Harvey? Did Lillian know you own the warehouse, that you're the one behind the opium smuggling? Had she put two and two together and asked you for something? Money, perhaps? No, wait, marriage? Is that it, Harvey, Lillian wanted you to marry her?"

"My, that's quite an imagination you have there, Bart. How did you come up with all this?" The voice was still calm, collected, but there was the faintest hint of something in his eyes. I might have missed it if I wasn't looking for it.

"I don't think it takes a massive imagination to connect the dots, Harvey. You own the warehouse, you finance the opium acquisition, Frank distributes it. You make a tidy little profit. The only part I haven't figured out yet was exactly how Oscar Wharton fit into all this. Maybe he was your partner? And when he got into financial trouble he wanted out. That's why he was trying to sell Belle Amour. And then Hollister McCann found out what the connection was, and started blackmailing Wharton. You told Frank to get rid of Oscar before he talked. Then when McCann came to you for a payoff, naturally he had to go. And Lillian. Did she put it together by herself, or did you let something slip that you shouldn't have? That was a clever touch on McGinty's part, using my gun to kill Oscar and Lillian. Or didn't you know about that?

"It was you that hit me with the buggy, wasn't it? Was that just a happy accident? After all, that's how McGinty came to be in possession of my derringer to begin with. Or was there a reason to kill me that I don't know about?"

The judge sat comfortably at his desk, sipping brandy while he listened to me. I held his complete attention; the whole time I was talking he never so much as glanced at Bret. I crossed my legs painfully and waited for him to say something. I could sit there all night if I had to. Finally the judge spoke.

"Clever man. To have assembled all the pieces that fast. What is it that you want, Mr. Maverick?"

"What is it that you have to offer, Judge?"

"A partnership. Like the one I had with Oscar before he turned into a frightened rabbit."

"And what exactly would that involve?"

"Frank will continue to import the opium. Then he'll send it to you, and you can distribute it. That should be easy to do, considering your ownership of the parlor house. For that you retain twenty percent of the profits."

"Fifty percent." I had to push him further than he was willing to go to force his hand.

"Twenty-five."

"Forty-five," Bret said at last.

The judge looked from me to Bret and back again. "Thirty-five, and that's my final offer."

"If you'll answer a question first."

For the first time, Harvey Vincent looked surprised. "What question?"

"Was it deliberate, or an accident?"

"Your injury, you mean? What did you call it, a happy accident? That's what it was, Mr. Maverick. If I want someone dead, they die."

"Mmmhmm," I responded. "And McGinty? He's the one doing the killing?"

"Quite right. He knows nothing of the internal workings of the operation. Frank gives him an order, and he carries it out. And one more thing."

"Yes?" I asked him, wondering what it was.

"I'll pay for Lillian's burial. I really was quite fond of her."

XXXXXXXX

We were on our way back to Belle Amour when Bret finally said something. "Don't you think that might have been too fast, accepting his offer of a partnership?"

I'd given that some thought while it was happening. "Under normal circumstances, maybe. But twenty-four hours goes by awful fast. And I don't like what Fontana was hinting at."

Bret finally nodded. "There is that, yes. Who do you think Vincent'll send McGinty after?"

"Me." There was no doubt in my mind that I would be his target. That was the way I wanted it, the way I'd played the whole scenario. I still wasn't sure how much Bret's mind was on the present and not Althea Taylor. The last thing I could stand the thought of was Bret not paying enough attention and getting himself killed because of it. Yeah, I know. Better that I should get killed? Of course not. But I'd rather take my chances this way than risk losing my brother. After all, I was the one that had actually won Belle Amour.

Now it was simply a matter of waiting to see how fast Judge Vincent made his move. It hadn't taken him long with either Hollister or Lillian, and I expected him to follow suit with my attempted demise. Bret gave me the derringer while we drove back, and I'd retrieve my Colt from Domino when we returned to the hotel.

"How about some food?" I asked to take my mind off everything.

"Don't you mean coffee?"

"No, actually, I mean food. I can't remember the last time I ate. How about you?"

My brother thought for a minute and then grinned at me. "Now that you mention it . . . . . . . "


	25. God Grant Me Patience

Chapter 24 – God Grant Me Patience

There was a small café down the street from Belle Amour, with good food, reasonable prices, and friendly waitresses. It was named Sammy's and we'd eaten there several times. It was too late for supper and too early for breakfast, so we ate what they had available, which turned out to be a strange combination of flapjacks and steak. When you're as hungry as we were it didn't matter.

About midway through our meal, Bret got an odd look on his face. I watched him for a few minutes and finally had to ask, "What?"

"Why do you do that?"

I think it was a question. "Do what?"

"Put yourself in harm's way for people you don't really know? Haven't we spent our lives professing to be cowards?"

"Aren't we?" I certainly thought so.

"No," Bret answered. "That's a myth we tell ourselves so we don't walk around terrified all the time."

"That's profound," I replied, as I ate another bite of flapjacks. "Who said it?"

"I did," my brother protested.

"You tell yourself anything you want to, Pappy. Me, I'm a coward."

He shook his head and took a swallow of coffee as somebody new walked in the front door. For a minute I wondered if it might be McGinty, but two more men followed him in and I assumed they were together. I didn't expect our killer to be making the rounds looking for us with his friends along for the ride. The three men sat together and I breathed a little easier. My holster was still empty and I wasn't gonna be completely comfortable until I had my Colt back.

When we were finished I paid the bill – more often than not I got stuck with the check – and we walked outside. It wasn't dawn yet, and we took our time getting back to the Belle, which is where we'd left the horse and buggy. And poor Noble, who'd been patiently waiting for me to return. The big gelding snorted at me and I turned to Bret. "I think I'd better . . . . . " and that was as far as I got before a shot rang out. Surprise registered in Bret's eyes for just a moment before he fell, and I did my best to catch him. "Damn it, McGinty, wrong Maverick" I muttered as we both went to the ground. I didn't see anything bleeding but Bret was definitely out.

I grabbed my brother's gun and fired off a round or two in the direction the shot had come from while I struggled to get a better hold on the dead weight in my arms. There was fumbling with the lock on the front door for a few seconds and then the door flew open and Herman appeared with a shotgun in his hands. "Help me with Bret, would ya Herman?"

"What happened, Mr. Bart?" he asked as he picked Bret up.

"I'm afraid your friend McGinty has bad aim," I told him. My biggest concern was my brother's welfare and not whether Herman understood what I meant or not.

Herman carried Bret like he was one of the ladies and took him inside as I fired off two more rounds. Just to be sure that McGinty got the point.

By the time I got inside Herman was gone, upstairs I assumed. As a matter of fact, he'd taken Bret straight to what had been Lillian's room and there were at least three of the ladies ministering to my brother. It's a shame he wasn't awake to revel in all the attention. Monique finally saw me standing in the doorway and came over.

"He'll be fine," she told me. "The bullet just creased his scalp. He's going to have one heck of a headache, though."

I let out a breath. "Keep him down, would you, Monique?"

"That won't be a problem," she grinned back. I had a feeling Bret was gonna have his hands full.

The big man wasn't in sight. "HERMAN!" I yelled, and he came lumbering around the corner.

"Boss?"

"I need you to stay here and guard the ladies. And whatever you do, don't let my brother out or McGinty in."

Herman was still confused, and I didn't blame him. I hadn't gotten to explain anything to him. "What's wrong with McGinty?" he asked me, rubbing his forehead.

"McGinty killed Oscar, Hollister and Lillian."

A thundercloud passed over Herman's face. "Are you sure?"

I nodded. "Positive. He works for Frank, and Frank works for Judge Vincent. He's behind everything."

"Pat McGinty killed Miss Lillian?" I'd never heard Herman that angry.

"You can't kill him, Herman. I need him alive to testify against the judge." I said the words out loud, but I wasn't sure Herman heard them.

"Where you goin', boss?"

"Back to Chez Natchez. I'm bringin' Domino and Lonnie back here. I want everybody in one place."

"You sure about that, boss?"

I nodded my assent. "This place is built better than a fort, Herman. I think they'll be safer here."

"Then I'm goin' with you."

"My brother – "

"He'll be fine, boss," Herman interrupted me. "Have you ever seen Bonnie with a Winchester?"

That question got a 'No" as its answer. "I can't take any chances with him, Herman," I told the big man, and he just grinned.

"He's as safe with Bonnie as he is with me," was Herman's reply, and I took him at his word.

"Then let's take the buggy and go get 'em."

XXXXXXXX

I was limping again by the time we got up the stairs at the hotel, but that's alright. At least the knee wasn't killing me. I knocked on the door and called out, "Domino, it's Bart." It took a couple minutes, but Dominique opened the door with my gun pointing at me. Disconcerting, to say the least.

"Where's Lonnie?" I asked as Herman followed me inside the suite.

"Right here," Lonnie answered as she came out of the bedroom.

"Oh, my," was all Herman could say when he caught sight of Lonnie in the pink dress.

"Herman!" Lonnie exclaimed, and ran into his arms. He picked her up like a doll and swung her around.

"Where's Bret?" Dominique asked, and I just grinned.

"Long story. We're headed back to Belle Amour, so gather up anything you want to take with you. I don't know how long it'll be before we get back here."

"But the judge said - " Lonnie started before I interrupted her.

"We have proof you're not involved in the smuggling," I told her. Well, that wasn't exactly true yet, but we would have proof before this day was over.

"Do you know who is?" she asked.

"Judge Vincent."

"Lillian's Judge Vincent?" she was surprised, startled, shocked, and a dozen other things.

"The same. And he thinks I'm his new partner."

"What?" Dominique stopped to stare at me.

"Come on, I'll explain it while we drive."

And that's exactly what I did, to all three of them. No one had much to say. Lonnie and Herman were not expecting everything I revealed, but I saw a tiny smile on Lonnie's lips when I made it clear Hollister McCann was not crooked, just a Police Chief trying to dismantle a criminal operation.

Herman got the ladies safely inside and came back out, as I'd requested. "Tie Noble to the back of the buggy, Herman," I instructed, "and then get in." He did as I asked and we went to the livery, to return both horses. I spent a couple minutes with Noble just so he wouldn't feel ignored, and we walked carefully back to Belle Amour, doing our best to stay in doorways and under roof overhangs whenever possible.

Inside the parlor house I breathed a sigh of relief, and went looking for Dominique. She was upstairs with my brother, who was awake, if unhappy.

"Not smart to leave without me," was the first thing he said as I stood with my arm around the lady I cared more for than I wanted to admit.

"You were indisposed when I left," I reminded him. "How's your head?'

"It's felt better," he admitted. "You alright?"

"So far. Now we just sit and wait."

"For McGinty?" Bret asked.

"Him or the Marshal," I answered.


	26. Wishin' and Hopin'

Chapter 25 – Wishin' and Hopin'

Sometime after sunup I fell asleep in one of the empty rooms, Domino curled up next to me. One of the best things to do on the face of the earth is fall asleep with a beautiful woman in your arms. One of the worst is to wake up and find her gone, and that's just what happened. I could tell she hadn't gone far; I could hear her voice out in the hallway.

"You can't wake him; he was up all night." That was Dominique.

"But Judge Vincent sent me to talk to him." That voice I didn't know well, but I'd heard it before. When I renegotiated the liquor delivery contract. Frank. I almost jumped out of bed, putting too much weight on my knee too fast, and had to practically drag myself to the door.

"It's all right, Domino, I need to see him. Let's go back downstairs, Frank. We can use Lonnie's office." I intended to find out just what it was the judge wanted. I walked ahead of Frank, and half-limped, half-dragged myself down the stairs to Lonnie's office. I closed the door behind us and he took a seat at Lonnie's table. "So, Judge Vincent sent you, did he? To make arrangements already?"

"Yeah, to make arrangements. Ya know, I thought you was a straight shooter when you took over the Belle and you came after me for a new contract. Guess I was wrong, huh?"

"I am until it pays better not to be," I told him. "I expected you to send McGinty."

"I thought about it. Then I figured I'd give it a shot myself and see if you was on the up-an-up or not."

I wasn't sure if I was still half asleep or Frank was talking in circles. I leaned forward to say something and that's when I saw the gun he had partially hidden under his coat. Pointed at me. "What's that for?" I asked as calmly as I could.

"Told you, I came to see if you was bein' straight with the judge; Harvey's not as suspicious as I am. Everything sounded a little too quick to me. I checked with my friend down at the Marshal's office, found out the two of you seem to be good pals. Figured you'd know about McGinty, so I decided to handle it myself. Your little scheme ain't gonna work, Maverick. This here's the end of the road."

"You've got the wrong idea. The deal I made with Vincent is legitimate. Fontana's been on my back about cuttin' him in on the action here; that's why I've been down at his office. So you're just gonna shoot me before I have a chance to prove myself?"

"Can't think of any reason not to," he said casually.

"They'll hear the gunshot." I hoped that was enough to give him pause.

He sat there for a minute, trying to work it out in his head. "Maybe. Maybe not. Might as well not take the chance." He stood up, still holding the gun on me. "Ain't there another way outta here?"

"Through the back door," I told him.

"Where's that?"

"Back through the saloon, there's another door. That leads to the back entrance."

He thought for another minute. "Alright, get that gal a yours down here. She's goin' to the back door with us. You try anything, I shoot her first. You co-operate, I won't hurt her. Tell her we're goin' to the warehouse to inspect the next shipment. Don't test me; she wouldn't be the first woman I killed."

I had no trouble believing him. I got up from the table and went to the door, slowly. Domino was sitting in the saloon, drinking tea with Bonnie. "Dominique, can you come here, please."

She gave me an odd look but came over to the door. I offered her my arm and she took it. Frank was right behind me, with the gun. "I'm goin' to the warehouse to check the next shipment. Come to the back door with me."

I don't know what was going through her mind, but she walked with us. I chattered incessantly about some nonsense or other, and sometime before we got to the door I told her, "Tell my brother I'll talk to him about that Breton Joseph matter later. Remember to tell him that right away, okay, honey?" Then I leaned over and kissed her and let go of her arm. She stood there at the door and watched me walk away with Frank, and I thanked God that he hadn't hurt her. And I prayed that she'd get my message to Bret.

As I limped to the warehouse, because that's what I was doing now, I did my best to try and convince Frank that my intentions were dishonest and I was genuinely committed to working with them. I wasn't successful, because the gun was still in my back by the time we got there. He locked the door behind us and gestured for me to move over near a stack of boxes along the side wall. I did as I was told and then turned to face him; if he was going to shoot me I wasn't going to make it easy for him. I had no intention of dying with a bullet in the back.

"I'll give ya this – ya don't give up easy. Sit down in that chair and put yer hands behind yer back."

Okay, I let out a breath I'd been holding as the realization hit me that you don't tie up a man before you shoot him. Now it was up to me to buy enough time any way that I could for Bret to get the message and come after me. "Maybe you oughta check with the judge before you do this."

"Smart ass. Where do ya think McGinty is now?"

Of course. Where else would he be? Frank knew all the tricks about tying men's hands, and he gave me nothing to work with. Then he relieved me of my Colt. All I could do now was pray.

Even though you're waiting for somebody to put a bullet in you, eventually you get bored. And when it's hot and stuffy and you got about an hour's worth of sleep, you doze. And that's what I was doing when the outside door finally opened. The newest addition to the warehouse made too much noise to be anyone except McGinty.

I could hear he and Frank talking, but neither one came into sight.

"What did Vincent have to say?"

The voice was deep and soft, and sounded nonchalant, like murder was what it spoke of all the time. "He's still not sure. He wasn't too pleased that you sent me out with the question, though."

"Yeah, that's too bad. You botched the shootin', so I had to do somethin'. He didn't give ya a yea or nay?"

McGinty must have shaken his head. "Nope. Left it up to you. Just suggested we wait until dark and dump the body down in the river."

Great. Now I was 'the body.' Where the hell was Bret, anyway?

The next thing I heard were footsteps, and I finally got a good look at McGinty. He seemed about as impressed with me as I was with him. "Herman knows you killed Lillian, McGinty. He won't rest until you're dead." The man shrugged casually, as if it didn't matter to him.

"A bullet'll stop the big man." So much for friendship.

The day wore on, and nobody turned up to get me out of this mess. Morning faded into afternoon and I'd given up hope of coming out of this any way but dead. Then I started thinking. Who'd let Frank into Belle Amour, anyway? It had to be one of the ladies, and I needed to figure out which one. I went through all the women, one by one, and I kept coming back to Rosalie. I hoped I was wrong, but she was the only one that made any sense.

The next time Frank appeared, I threw out the bait. "How long do you think it'll be before Rosalie cracks and admits she let you into Belle Amour?"

He stopped what he was doing and looked at me. "How'd you know it was Rosalie?"

"Because Rosalie is the one addicted to morphine. I'm not the only one that knows. As soon as my body turns up they'll go after her, and she'll break. And they'll have a perfectly good witness to testify against you and McGinty and Vincent. I hear a gallows in your future, Frank."

"Shut up, Maverick. Just shut up."

"Not a pleasant prospect, is it, Frank? I know what it's like to sit in a jail cell and watch 'em build the gallows they're gonna hang you on. Counting down the hours and minutes that you have left to live. Climbing up those steps just so they can put that noose around your neck. You know what they all say, huh? Short rope long drop?" The more I talked the more agitated Frank became, so I continued. "By the time that trap door opens, the crowd's so quiet you can hear your own neck snap. God forbid somethin' goes wrong and your neck doesn't break, then you get to just hang there and slowly strangle to death, coughing and choking and begging somebody – "

I saw it coming but there was nothing I could do. The butt of Frank's pistol slammed me across the mouth and made me forget who I was and what was happening, at least for a while, and my head dropped onto my chest.

XXXXXXXX

Little bits and pieces of conversations started flying around my brain; voices I recognized and didn't recognize. I didn't want to open my eyes, in case I was wrong about whose voices I was hearing. It took a minute before all the jumbled up words came together and organized themselves into a coherent sentence, and when they did I knew the sentence had been spoken by my brother. "I got him, Fontana!"

Fingers were at the ropes that bound my hands behind the chair, and without any further warning my arms were free to swing forward. Slowly I talked my eyes into opening, but I couldn't convince them to focus. Finally, a hand was tapping my cheek and the voice that went with it kept saying, "Bart, Bart, wake up, son. You're safe, we gotcha. Come on now, let's get you up and outta here." That familiar face swam in front of me for another minute or so, and then my brain and eyes finally got it together and let me see those damn dimples.

"What took you so long?" I whispered, and Bret laughed out loud. He had something around his head, under his hat, and I slowly realized it was a bandage. We made a fine pair, didn't we?

"Rosalie," I mumbled, and I could vaguely see Bret's head bob up and down.

"Yep, Rosalie finally told us what she did. Sorry I wasn't here any sooner. Domino gave me the message right before I passed out. Then I sent Marjorie for the marshal, and by the time he got there Herman and I were about to leave. Fontana wanted to wait until dark; I knew better. Can you stand up?"

"Don't know," I told him, and he got me up and got my arm over his shoulders.

"C'mon, give it a try." I took a step with the bad leg and my knees buckled. I hung onto my brother for dear life, and the next thing I knew Jenkins was on the other side of me, helping hold me upright. I saw figures that resembled Frank and McGinty, hands behind their backs in handcuffs, and I couldn't help but smile. My mouth felt like somebody had hit me with a brick, but it was worth it. They were going to jail, and I was going – home?


	27. Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes

Chapter 26 – Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes

Bret and I went back to the Chez Natchez, accompanied by Domino. Marshal Fontana himself went out to arrest Judge Harvey Vincent. Herman insisted on going with him, and the marshal let him go. The big man just sat on his horse and watched as Fontana put the judge in handcuffs. I'm sure Lillian would have smiled.

Doctor Jackson came to the hotel to dress Bret's wound and re-splint my leg. Domino made me promise that I would stay in bed for at least three days, and I'm happy to say I fulfilled that promise. Of course, Domino spent the three days with me.

The marshal declined to press charges against Rosalie, with the understanding that she would no longer work at Belle Amour but would concentrate all her energies on getting out from under the morphine addiction. She moved in with Emily to help after the baby was born. Somehow Fontana managed to keep the doctor's name out of everything and he was left to continue practicing medicine, although without his prior connections.

By the end of the week, Bret had begun playing poker again and was beginning to show signs of restlessness. Truth be told, I was a little restless too, but I was too enamored of Domino to do anything about it.

She reminded me a lot of Caroline. Not physically. It was the gentleness, the concern in her voice, her willingness to take care of someone other than herself, the way she responded to my touch. Thoughts of staying in Natchez started to make themselves known to me. And, by God, I was beginning to listen to them.

In fact, Bret and I were sitting in the dining room at the hotel having breakfast one morning when the subject came up. "What are you gonna do with Belle Amour?" my brother asked me.

"What would you say if I kept it?"

He sighed. "I'd say you're in love with a lady that's already married."

"We can get around that," I told him.

"The question was about the business, not Dominique."

"Still thinkin' about keepin' it. Natchez is not a bad little city."

"Are you gonna marry her?" One thing about Brother Bret, he doesn't pull punches.

"What if I do?"

This time I got a shake of the head. "You know how that turned out before."

"Different situation, different woman."

"Yeah, this one's already married."

"She can get a divorce, Bret. Hawkins abandoned her. The court would grant that."

"And what happens when you do the same thing?"

I looked at him like he'd just stabbed me in the heart. "Gimme a little more credit than that, would ya? I wouldn't marry her if I wasn't gonna stay."

I was about to say something else when who should come into the dining room but Lonnie del Cantera. Dressed in a soft blue print dress, she looked like any society lady out on her morning rounds. She smiled and we stood, and I offered her a chair. "I was hoping I'd find you two here. How are you both feeling?"

"Good as new," Bret answered, and smiled at her.

"I can almost walk without limping," was my contribution.

"Good. I'm glad you're getting better. I have some news for you. Doctor Jackson and I have gone our separate ways."

I took her hand in mine. "Lonnie, I'm so sorry. Your decision or his?"

"Mine," she answered. "Lewis had some reservations about marrying a former . . . . . hostess."

"Former?" I asked, fearing exactly what that meant.

She nodded her head. "I can't do this anymore. It wouldn't be respectable. And I want to be respectable."

I reached over and grasped her chin with my fingers. Her eyes sparkled. There was only one thing on my mind. "Jenkins Fontana."

She smiled at me then, and I had truly never seen her this happy. "How did you know?"

"Intuition," Bret said.

"What are you gonna do?" I asked her.

"Open a dress shop," she said. "I've always wanted to. No more black silk for me! I've got some money saved, and I'm going to put it to use. I know the perfect place, and the building is for sale. I can live upstairs and run the store downstairs."

"And what am I gonna do for a hostess?"

She laughed, a joyous sound. "I know the perfect person for you."

I was a step ahead of her. Or behind her, I'm not sure which one. "Emily."

"Emily. We talked about it when she first found out she was going to have a baby. She wouldn't have to go back to the life."

I nodded. "I'll talk to her."

"And what about you two. What do you do now?"

"I don't know what Bart's gonna do. I'm goin' to Laredo." That was the first I'd heard of it.

"Laredo? Texas? What's goin' on there?"

"You mean besides the biggest poker game organized in years? I hear tell there's some outlaws got the Mexicans and the good ole boys all stirred up about Texas secessedin' from the union. They wanna go back to bein a sovereign country."

"Good gosh. Are Pappy and Ben goin' to the game?"

"Who do ya think invited us?"

Now he'd peaked my interest. "When's it bein' played?"

"In three weeks. Just enough time to get there and get settled. You goin' with me?"

"I . . . . . . I don't know." Just when I'd been thinking about staying in Natchez.

Lonnie got up from our table. "I have to go, boys. Bart, you will talk to Emily?"

"If not today, then tomorrow."

She leaned down and kissed me on the cheek, then she was gone. Bret looked at me and must have seen the confusion on my face. "I think you better go upstairs and talk to the lady, don't you?"

I nodded. What I was going to say to her, I didn't know. Part of me wanted to ride off into the sunset with my brother, and part of me wanted to stay a resident of Natchez. I couldn't do both.


	28. The End of Domino

Chapter 27 – The End of Domino

I tried sorting out my feelings as I walked slowly up the staircase to the suite we'd been calling home for a while now. It wasn't my feelings for Domino that were in question – I loved the woman. I flat out loved everything about her.

But there is another lady in my life – one that I've loved since I was two years old and caught a glimpse of her. I remember the chill that went up my backside the first time I held five cards in my hands. Sometimes I have to stop myself from getting that same feeling today when I pick up a deck. And even now I could feel her pull on me, doing her best to lead me away from the flesh and bone woman I'd fallen for. By the time I got to the threshold of the suite, I still didn't have an answer or know what to say.

I opened the door and my breath caught in my throat. There stood Dominique, my beautiful Domino with the strawberry-blonde hair and aquamarine eyes, in the arms of another man.

She didn't have to tell me who it was. I knew instinctively. Richard Hawkins, the husband that had abandoned her almost a year and a half ago, to scrape and scratch out a living with no way to do so. Who'd caused her to sell the livestock just to keep eating, to lose the farm and be forced to take a job scrubbing floors, so beaten down and defeated that becoming an upstairs girl for a parlor house seemed like a step back up in the world. And from the look on her face, she still loved him.

I cleared my throat and they realized for the first time that I was there. I stepped into the suite and closed the door behind me, and they pulled apart. Domino turned beet red, and Hawkins whirled to face me. "Uh, Mr. Maverick. I'm – "

"I know who you are," I interrupted him. I saw the look in her eyes and I knew in an instant – she'd never looked at me quite that way. She cared about me – of that I was certain. But she felt for him what I felt for her. The only thing I could think of was that we had a Mexican standoff.

"Bart. I'm sorry. Richard just appeared – "

"It's alright, Domino, you don't have to explain. He's your husband. I'm going back downstairs. I'll be back in an hour. Please don't be here when I come back. And make sure you take everything with you when you go. Good luck to you both, you're gonna need it." And I turned back to the door and opened it.

As I left I heard Hawkins say, "Domino?"

"Bart, wait . . . . . . " but I couldn't. If I'd stood there one more minute I would have cried, and begged, and pleaded with her to choose me instead of him. And her answer would have been the same. So I took the easy way out, the coward's way out, and fled back downstairs.

I almost tripped on the steps on the way back down. It's hard to see where you're going when there are tears clouding your vision. I wiped my eyes on my sleeve, like I had when I was three years old, and rejoined my brother in the dining room. He was just finishing his coffee and he looked up, startled to see me back so quickly.

"What – " he began to ask, and I stopped him.

"How soon do you want to leave for Laredo?"

The End

The Saga continues next in 'The Gun Runner's Tale'


End file.
